The Girl Who Wanted To Fly
by Penpal678910
Summary: Philly Resh. Zeldonian by birth. Pilot by choice. Peter Quill. Terran by birth and self proclaimed Star-Lord. The two of them lived symbiotically, swindling and scavenging their way through the galaxy. Trouble always followed wherever they went ...And the day Peter brought that stupid orb aboard the ship was no exception... Possibly Rocket/OC.
1. Chapter 1: Just Another Job

**Welcome welcome! Please come in, just**** a few notes before we begin our feature presentation. **

**(1)because the movie didn't give a lot of details about the universe this story will be featuring a ton of references mostly from _Star Wars_ and _Firefly. _**

**(2)I don't own any of it. Nope. Not a thing, (except for the OC, her backstory, and anything else you don't recognize). **

**(****3)I (like most of you) am an amateur. This means there will probably be spelling and grammar mistakes that I missed but will be glaringly obvious to you (the reader) and I apologize for any and all of these.**

**(4) In the distant future this will most likely turn into a Rocket/OC story. I say distant as I don't believe in writing a "love at first sight" story because "to love someone without first liking someone is a recipe for a potential Mary-Sue". (although I wouldn't turn my nose up if something like that ever happened to me in real life)**

****I think that about covers it...Oh, hold on! ****

****Just a thought for you...if you like my story let me know. I mean if you're going to bother reading the whole thing (you've even been reading the **authors note) why not take a fey key strokes to tell me?**

**That's it! **

**Wait... **

**Yeah, that's it.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

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><p>Philomena "Philly" Desala Resh leaned back slowly in her pilot's chair. She propped booted feet up on the dash, inter laced fingers behind her head. At a glance her posture was relaxed, open. Inside she felt jumpy as a two-tailed toonka cat in a room full of rocking chairs.<p>

It was quiet on _Milono. _Quiet enough to hear life support systems adjusting with a muffled whirl, the suddenly loud ticking of a scavenged coo-coo clock on the wall behind her, and the creak off the leather chair as the Zeldonian woman craned her neck the check the clock. It wasn't always bad when Peter was absent.

She shouldn't feel this antsy but there was usually a routine. Yondu calling out of the blue, order them on some obscure, extremely vague mission. Peter asking questions, starting to say no when he doesn't get answers. Peter being guilt tripped by Yondu about how he'd saved his life (forever ago). Philly watching the whole thing on a split screen above the control panel, rolling her eyes and punching numbers into the navigation computer. Peter poking his head through that trapdoor leading toward the cockpit to (unnecessarily) give her coordinates. Racing off to fulfill whatever earned the leader of the Ravengers bestowed upon them. Getting paid.

This had been one of those times when Philly'd been sleeping when they got the call. She'd been rudely awakened when Peter practically shoved her out of her hammock and given coordinates to here.

Other then that it was same old same old. Right?

Probably.

Something just felt…wrong about this place. It could be that this planet, Morag, had been abandoned for centuries. Or the creepy ruins Philly could occasionally see through the viewport when the creepy fog moved in just the right way. But maybe, _just_ maybe, it was the fact that the air was kriffing _toxic_.

Yeah, that might be it.

She typically loved it when no one else was home. When it was just her, her junk (as Peter called it, Philly didn't think her stuff was junk) and her thoughts. But right now it was so…_dull_.

Then the proximity sensors went off.

The sudden blaring alarm and flashing lights combo gave Philly such a fright she fell out of her chair with a girlish shriek. She scrambled to her feet. Leaned forward to try and see through the window whatever had made them go off. At the same time her fingers automatically found the alarm shut off switch.

The silence rang in her ears.

_But it's not as quiet as it was a minute ago_, she noted hearing the distant hum of engines.

About three hundred meters, 10 o'clock of the ship, powerful landing spotlights cut though the fog like a hot knife through zebu butter.

Philly's left hand reached up, flicking off_ The_ _Milano's_ interior and exterior lights, her right went for the long range comm. systems on the dashboard.

"Peter, we've got company. Two ships, maybe more. Can't see 'um to well in this fog, but my first guess is Kree, which means armed to the teeth. And that means if you don't hurry up I'm leaving you here."

"…" She frowned when there was a surplus of static and a severe lack of a smart-ass-Peter-comeback.

Before she could run a diagnostic an error message popped up on the main monitor.

_Warning! Communication is temporarily off line due to heavy magnetic interference._

"Great." Philly muttered, dismissing the pop up with a wave of her hand, "Like I needed another reason to hate this place."

There was movement near the other ships, her gray eyes strained to see through the smog.

Fingers found the comm. button once more, "Peter if you can hear me, there are three heavily armed bozos heading your way."

More static.

"Not good." Philly groaned watching a small squad of troopers approach the ship in an offensive formation, "So not good."

Her eyes jumped from the windows to the view screens and monitors laid out on the dash, keeping an eye on the armed thugs and looking for any sign of her partner in crime. She strapped herself in.

Fingers twitched impatiently as her hands hovered over the necessary controls for a Peter Quill style escape.

First, she activated the air filter/barrier tech to keep the toxic air out and the breathable air in.

Then with a reluctant pull of a leaver the upper-most panel in the view windows slid back, opening what Philly and Peter called their "back door".

The next thing to do was turn the engines on. But this meant the lights and thrusters would activate and she didn't particularly want the ship shot at just yet.

It would be shot at, just not yet.

The way Philly figured it Peter knew where _Milano_ was and for all his go-with-the-flow attitude the moron did know how to handle himself.

If he wasn't back in ten minutes, she decided, _The Milano_ and her would swoop in and be saving his sorry butt.

Again.

The cold had started drifting in. Yellowish fog pooled against the barrier. It'd been creepy before. Now that creepiness was multiplied by seven when there was nothing between her and the outside.

The squad had gotten within spitting distance. Watching their every move on monitors Philly didn't move an inch. One of them who seemed to be in charge gave a sharp nod toward the ship and a body near the end of the line took a few tentative steps forward. Making it to the ship with out any sign of life on board he rapped on the hull with the muzzle of his blaster.

Nothing.

He gave a signal to he superior and the rest of the group advanced. Some began to circle the ship like vultures looking for an entry point, three set about getting the cargo ramp down. Form their view on the ground the open panel near the roof wasn't visible.

Inside, Philly's thin lips curled into an impish grin. An index finger slowly traced light circles over the knob for one of her favorite modifications. Peter was always telling her how unhealthy it was she took joy in tasering people.

Speaking of Peter… where was he anyway? Had he tried to call for help and the comm hadn't worked. Maybe they had caught him and the poor Terran was being drawn and quartered at this very moment. Maybe he'd done the sensible thing and gone dark the second he'd seen the ships.

That scenario was dismissed as soon as it crossed her mind.

_Peter? Sensible? Ha!_

Her gray eyes flicked to a small group of slackers conversing and making gestures toward the ship.

One of Quill's Poppers, the ones shaped like a 3-D triangle, landed in the middle of them, instantly magnetizing and pulled them into a forced dog pile. Philly took that as her signal and turned the knob she'd been fingering up to 6. The entire hull lit up with electric current for an instant, the troopers near enough to be effected seized up. The knob turned back to the off position,

"…And they all fall down…" Philly giggled in a singsong voice.

Someone landed on the port side wing with a solid thunk,

"I got it! Let's go!" Peter yelled, power sliding through the "back door" he tumbled all the way to the rear wall with his momentum. The _Milano's _thrusters hummed and whirled to life. Philly pushed the steering yolk forward and up, lifting the ship into the air and closed the outside hatch.

"Buckle up Petey!" She called over her shoulder, "this is going to be a bumpy ride!"

Peter attempted to get his feet under him to stand but the _Milano_'s nose jerked up 90 degrees. The poor man slammed into the back wall with a high-pitched yelp and a Tarren curse. Philly gave a short of laugher.

His eyes burned holes in the back of the Zeldonian's blue haired head as Peter again tried to right himself and stagger to the co-pilot seat.

"They're shooting at us!" his pilot called unapologetically over her shoulder.

"Why didn't you call me?" he demanded, "A little warning would have been nice!"

Philly steered left then right, the corners of her lips quirked upward, "I tried but there's too much interference on this bantha dung rock!"

"And that's my fault?"

Philly twisted her body to snap, "I was sleeping. You just had wake me up and gave me these coordinates."

"Eyes on the sky!" The warning came to late.

Another delightful feature of Morag was the spontaneous water geysers that broke though the planet's surface and sprayed (probably toxic) water hundreds of feet in the air. It was one of these that hit the underbelly of _Milano_. Peter's head slammed into the roof then the windshield until tumbling back to the rear of the cockpit.

Visibility dropped to near zero as water droplets splattered ageist the viewport. Guiding the steering yolk with a practiced hand, Philly let the ship spiral downward. Inside everyone not buckled were tossed and turned like rag dolls inside a washing machine.

Philly threw her head back with a whoop and a howl.

Peter felt like he was going to be sick.

An alert that ground was approaching flashed on the dashboard. The pilot straightened the yolk, leveled the ship and activated the thrusters.

_Milano_ ceased falling smoothly, more or less, and for a moment everything was still.

...

...

...

"DAMN IT, PHILLY!"

Said girl tilted her head back offhandedly, fixing her eyes on the glass paneled roof,

"Well, I told you to buckle up."

Satisfied they hadn't been followed the Zeldonian rolled her neck lazily to smirk at a glairing Peter. A staring contest lasted for a few beats until Peter's mouth stretched into a wide grin.

He chuckled.

She chuckled.

They laughed off the adrenalin together. Just business as usual.

"Peter?" the breathless voice made them jump and whip around in almost perfect unison. Quill's hands rested on the two blasters hanging from his belt, Philly reached for the stun gun under her chair.

The top part of a pink skinned Krylorian with a severe case of bed head poked up through the hatch that led to the rest of the ship.

"What happened?" The woman's hands braced herself on the sides of the hatch, head swaying a little.

Philly vaguely remembered her as Peter's…ahem…sleepover pal from last night.

The Terran man flashed their guest a charming smile, "Hey!…uh…uh…"

"Bereet." She said. Her voice sounded dizzy and only a little offended.

"Bereet." He echoed with an I-knew-that nod. After a second he saw nobody was buying whatever he was trying to sell, "look I'm gonna be totally honest with you; I forgot you were here."

Peter shrugged apologetically as Bereet's mouth dropped open.

Philly's, "…awkkkwarrrd…" snapped the attention to the pilot; who had turned back around and started course off world.

She kept her gaze on the front viewports, "Oh, there's food in the kitchen if you're hungry. Just make yourself at home 'till we get to port."

Bereet didn't respond and soon Philly could hear the clickity-clack as she climbed down the ladder.

...

…

"…I thought you showed her out this morning…"

"…I thought you did…" Peter whispered back sheepishly.


	2. Chapter 2: Off To Xander

**Hey you there, ****I know you! ****You read the last chapter right? Yes...? ****Well welcome back! So glad you came! Just a few note before we begin.**

**(1)This is set as the _Milano _flies to Xander. It's kind of a filler...a really long full length chapter filler... But a kind of filler all the same.**

**(2)See I don't really like holes in plot lines, so when I do stories like this I'll fill up most holes. Don't worry Gamora, Groot and Rocket should ****appear in the next chapter.**

**(3)I would like to thank the following for their kind words,**

**_Wolf Boy 95_**

**_gibina11748_**

**_Sapphire-Willow_**

**And a big 'much obliged' to all those who added this story to their Alerts and/or Favorites list(s).**

**(4)I still don't own _Guardians of the Galaxy. _If I did I'd probably make it into a TV show...or a book...**

**Anyway...enjoy this chapter and think about giving me a review. I love reviews.**

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><p>Peter and Philly laughed as quietly as they could. Philly's left hand grasped the steering yolk, guiding <em>Milano <em>off world with a practiced ease. Her right, resting on a leaver that controlled the thrusters, pushed forward and back to adjust speed.

"So what'd we get anyway?"

"This." Philly turned to glance his way. The Terran's body was draped comfortably over the co-pilot's chair, his face was arranged in a cocky smirk, and his hands were tossing something in the air and catching it. Peter held it still just long enough for her to see.

"A ball? No seriously, what'd we get?"

"Hey, It's an _orb_." Peter snapped a smidge crossly "Have a little respect." He'd risked his life for this thing, orb just sounded so much cooler.

The Zeldonain made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan, "Give me." She demanded letting go of the thruster control to snap her fingers in Peter's face.

When the _orb_ was pressed into her palm Philly released the joystick style steering yolk. Simultaneously her feet kicked up, clasping the stick in-between her ankles.

"Philly…"

She ignored him, blowing a strand of her blue side bangs out of her face. Ash gray eyes surveyed the object. It was silver, about the size of a fist, and perfectly round. Philly couldn't decide if it was made of metal shards sloppily melted together, or if it'd taken a skilled craftsman to mold the unintelligible symbols onto the sphere.

"Shiny. So, back to Yondu?"

Peter hesitated, "…No. Set course to Xander."

"Xander? Why?" Philly moved her legs and the ship banked right.

"Well I just thought we'd sell the orb directly to The Broker. Cut out the middle man." He shrugged, and seemed to find his boot very interesting.

"Peter…you're double-crossing Yondu and The Ravengers?"

He gave a short laugh, "Well, technicality so are you."

"Hey I'm just the pilot. You tell me where to go and I fly."

"Plausible deniability?"

"You know it." She said, turning the orb over in her palms, "what will this mean for me? I mean how 're you going to pay your half of the bills? Whatever price this orb will fetch might not last for long. And don't know 'bout you, but an empty fuel tank don't sound like much use."

"It's not like whether or not I work for Yondu is going to affect odd jobs, or your freelancing."

"Yondu's got a lot of reach. What if it dose?"

Peter rolled his eyes, "Then…I'll eat my hat."

"You don't own a hat." She deadpanned.

"I'll buy one, then I'll eat it. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Pals?" Peter asked, offering a fist-bump.

Philly nodded, "Pals. Just keep me in the loop next time, will ya?" She tapped her knuckles to his. As she did so the Terran leaned over and swiped back the orb.

He nudged her feet down from the dash, tucking the stolen object in his jacket pocket, "Now, eyes on the sky before you get in another fender-bender."

"That was not my fault and you know it!"

"Whatever you say…"

…

…

After a few more moments of platonic banter, Peter gave a melodramatic sigh. He glanced sideways at Philly fully expecting for her to acknowledge him.

She didn't.

He tried again. Louder.

Nothing. The Zeldonian kept her face carefully blank and eyes front just to tick Peter off.

It worked, and he finely got to the point, "I kind of feel bad about forgetting…uh.." he gestured toward the hatch.

"Bereet."

"I know her name, just testing you. I just wish I could make it up to her, you know?" he rolled his head to the side; giving her the best impression of a puppy-dog he could muster.

"…Oh, alright. Just…" Before she had finished the third syllable, Peter'd leaped to his feet, practically skipping down the ladder.

Philly's sharp, "HEY!" made him pause and poke his head back into the cockpit.

"Keep it clothed, will ya? I'm coming down for breakfast soon as I can go on autopilot. M'kay?"

He shot her a roguish grin and a mock salute.

Philly was wondering just how hungry she really was when _Go all the way _by the _Raspberries_ blared through the ship.

Philly bobbed her head to the opening guitar, feeling the way the two pigtail buns perched near the top of her head pulled at her roots when she moved.

Zeldonians were a petite humanoid species native to the planet Zeldon. They had almost a pixie appearance, with their delicate features and pointed ears. The most characteristic aspect was their hair.

In infancy all Zeldonian hair started white. Through out their lifespan the hair would choose a color and shift from a light shade of that specific color, getting darker until finely ending up jet black in old age.

According to a strict custom ones hair was a symbol of dignity and fortitude; it was one of the highest of disgraces to cut it. So everybody on Zeldon, male or female, young or old, kept his or her colorful locks long and well groomed. It was a prize to have long strands going from white to black.

Although Philly had never been on Zeldon except the occasional refueling, she kept her hair long and uncut. Philly's hair was blue and at her roots, the periwinkle of a noonday sky. That was where the comparison between her and an ideal Zeldonian ended.

An ideal Zeldonian female was refined, poised, graceful. She was well versed in the arts, played an instrument, or at the very lest knew how to cook. She could dance the waltz and kept her skin stylishly un-tanned.

Philly wasn't any of these things. Raised by some form of wolves or another, her whole life she was 'un' everything an ideal Zeldonian was. Unrefined, unpolished, ungraceful. Never had the interest or patience to learn an instrument, didn't care to know how to cook, had two left feet, and loved the sunshine.

She liked being an 'un' though, it was a lot more interesting.

The communication systems beeped and Yondu's picture flashed on the monitor.

Philly made a face as she reached over to decline the transmission. But someone accepted before she could.

She put her camera on mute, and turned on the split screen. Yondu's angry face took up the left half, and an annoyed Peter took up the right.

She upped the volume and mostly listened.

"_Quill?"_

"_Hey Yondu…"_

"_I'm here on Morag, ain't no orb, ain't no you, ain't no…Philly! I know you're listening girl, come on out!"_

Philly winced and activated her camera. "Hey Yondu."

"_Well," _Peter started,_ "We were in the neighborhood thought we'd save you the hassle."_

"_Well where you at now, boy?"_

"_I feel really bad about this, but I'm not going to tell you that."_

Yondu grit his teeth and flared his nostrils, _"I slaved putting this de-"_

"_-Slaved?" _Peter cut off with a laugh,_ " Making a few calls is slav-"_

"_-And now the two a you 're ripping me off!"_

"_-I mean really?"_

"_We do not do that to each other! We're Ravengers. We got a code."_

"_Yeah, and that code is steal form _everybody_!"_

"_When I picked you up on Terra, these boys of mine wanted to eat 'cha. They ain't never tasted a Tarren 'fore. I stopped 'um. You're alive 'cause a me! I will find you and-"_

Peter pointedly turned off his screen, leaving the pilot with a growling Yondu.

"_And don't go thinking I forgot about you, Philly! I'll get you and I'll-"_

"Yondu!" She cut him off, "I'm not on your pay-roll, and I think Quill just quit. Have a nice day!" she said in a singsong voice before hanging up.

Philly took a deep breath as the music started again.

_Huh…that felt good. _She thought, pushing the thruster lever a little farther then was recommended and engaging the autopilot. Philly unbuckled, climbed down the ladder, jumping the last three rungs.

_I mean, he'll probably send someone to track us down…but we'll worry about that later._

Right now she had to worry about catching someone in the act of intercourse on the kitchen table. She tiptoed past the bedrooms, bathroom, and the small shower, pausing every few feet to listen. Not much could be heard over the ship's audio systems blaring the end of _Go all the way_ by the _Raspberries_, but Philly was almost completely sure she'd be able to hear them if they were…ya know…

Her blue haired head poked cautiously in the doorframe to the area known as the common room. It was a combination kitchen, dinning room, living room, and TV room, all rolled into one. She let out a breath seeing Peter and Bareet fully clothed and sitting at the table.

The pilot strolled into the room and popped a bagel in the flash toaster.

"Hi-ya." She chirped, pouring herself a tall glass of pofro juice, taking a few gulps and topping the glass off again.

Peter had an elbow propped on the table, head resting on his fist. A steaming mug of caf sat in front of him. He and the other female had apparently been conversing about something they didn't want Philly to hear.

If you could organize Peter's vast array of overnight guests into a spectrum, it might range from airheads, who had nothing interesting to say, and had been charmed into Quill's bed. To, trampy gold-diggers who always made a fuss when they found out there was a female living aboard.

All Philly could tell about Bereet was that she seemed to fit somewhere in the middle of the two extremes. A nice girl, albeit a tad dazed, just not worth remembering.

When her bagel popped up, toasted and warm, she smeared it with yellow zebu butter. With food and drink in hand she strolled out the door.

"We'll be landing on Xander in 15!" she called over her shoulder.

…

…

…

Back in the cockpit Philly checked the readings on the dash for any signs of anomalies or imminent danger. Nope, all good. She settled back into the pilot's chair, ate her bagel, and drank her juice. Xander was in view by the time she was done.

The communication icon beeped across a monitor.

"_Unidentified starship_," a bored voice intoned over the comm in basic after she'd answered, "_this is Xander control tower requesting serial number of your vessel. Do you copy?_"

Philly's fingers had already started punching in the code for a phony ship dossier, "I copy control. This is the pilot of the _Milano_, sending over the info now."

There was a pause as control read over the information they were given, "_what is you business on Xander_, Milano?"

"Sightseeing and refueling." Philly answered without missing a beat. She was well accustomed to going through the stiff motions of planet approach protocol.

"_Alright _Milano_ you're approved."_ She was given a landing slot number and waved on with a dismal, "_enjoy your stay on Xander."_

She chirped a thank you, switching off the long-range comm.

It was a marvel how far a shipping job for the right forger could go, she mused, letting the ship's nose dip down.

For the duration of the short trip to the designated parking spot Philly was careful to stay within the posted speed limit, waited her turn to merge into the space lanes, and always signaled before turning.

By the time the landing platform was in sight she felt half asleep. She killed the forward thrusters, lowered the landing gear, and guided the ship neatly onto the platform.

_Milano_ settled down with a slight jolt. Philly began flicking switches, and pressing buttons.

The engines were powered down, generators turned on. Recycled air was released and set to restock.

A message flashed on the monitor, telling her that the paperwork grunt was there. Humming _The Runaways' Cherry Bomb_ with a spring in her step she once again hopped the ladder. Navigated the twisty corridors to the cargo hold. Let the ramp down. Opened the bay doors.

Waiting on the landing platform, one foot on the ramp, stood a shabbily dressed uniformed guard. He was balding, with an ample middle, and a perfectly curved frown.

"Where's the pilot?" he asked, wrinkling his bushy eyebrows.

"You're lookin at her." Philly said, handing over a forged pilot's license. He gave the small alien a once over. Rusty red pants, faded yellow button up shirt, boots.

The attendant gave a shrug and exchanged the license for a data-pad. Philly filled out the necessary paperwork, ordering the fuel and water tanks be refilled, trash picked up, and fresh supplies delivered. The man scanned her cards for payment and took the data-pad, gave her cards back. He gave a curt not and stalked off with out so much as a 'farewell'.

The Zeldonian _tisked_ after him before spinning on her heel and marching up the cargo ramp all the way past Peter who was waiting for Bereet to grab her stuff.

"Hey, Philly, why don't you come with me to the Broker's place?"

"Come with you," She echoed, "off the ship?"

"Yeah, you can get some fresh air, stretch your legs, and see the sights. What do ya say?"

"Off the ship?" Philly bit her bottom lip, considering. "Well…okay. What's the worst that could happen, right?"

"That's the spirit!" Peter laughed, reaching out to flick one of her blue hair buns.

She made a face at the Terran, scampering down the hall. Climbed the ladder to the cockpit. She dug out an ankle holster, fastened it to her inside boot. Grabbed her stun gun, or zapper as she called it, tucked it in the holster.

…

…

…

She joined Peter and Bereet at the end of the cargo ramp, wheeling the trash bin out. Left it on the landing pad. Closed the cargo bay doors.

Peter looped his arms around the two women, chatting cheerfully with his one night stand. Philly cast a wistful glance over her shoulder at the _Milano._

_Calm down Philly-girl, _She chided herself_. Honestly, what could happen?_


	3. Chapter 3: Taken Into Custody

**Hey, you're back! Oh, happy day! Just a few things before the main event.**

**(1)First and ****for most, I want to thank everyone who added this story to their alert/favorite list. **

**(2)To all those who reviewed the last chapter,**

_**Nekolover3**_

_**songbird**_

_**areskickass13**_

_**MagicSprinkles**_

_**Z0mbieMart**_

_**Guest**_

**Thank you so much! You guys rock my socks!**

**(3)...that's all I can think of right now...I know there's something else...Oh, well...I'm sure it's not _that_ important.**

**Anyway...enjoy!**

* * *

><p>The point on Xander where The Broker resided was a densely populated multi-story plaza. It was jam packed with beings, mostly Xandarians, as well as a few other species going about their lives. It seemed that everyone had a place to be, somewhere to go, people to do things with.<p>

The concrete walkways were just a means to an end. High end shops and restaurants merely a way to pass time, spend money.

_So dull_, Philly thought, letting Peter lead her by his hand on the small of her back.

His other arm was wrapped around Bereet's waist, mouth close to the Krylorian's ear.

Philly wasn't even bothering to try and eavesdrop on their whispered exchange. Instead, she let her gray eyes wander, content to cloud gaze or people watch. People watching on a 'civilized' planet was oftentimes hilarious.

Just...the outfits that some races considered fashionable were completely ridicules…not to mention impracticable. On Xander in particular the acceptable clothing for men was shoulder pads and matching suits. Ladies wore dresses, or jumpsuits, and don't even get her started on women's foot ware.

The fabric for both genders' clothing was thick and hot, very unrealistic for the summer like climate this part of the world was in. Coloring was oh so tame, restricted to grays, blacks, and white…lots and lots of white.

Oh, and the hair. Hair on this planet was dyed the same bland colors as everyone's attire, styled and gelled to a hard swirl.

By now the trio had reached a second story platform and were lingering by the railing. Philly rested her elbows on it; head tilted back longingly observing the clear blue sky. With a great deal of show, Peter bid his onetime lover farewell, sending her off with enough units for the trip back to her home world.

"M'lady." the Terran offered his arm again with a slight bow.

Philly shook her head, laughing at his exaggerated gesture and overly charming expression.

She looped her arm with his, resting her head just above his elbow. From past experience they knew well a couple out for a stroll draws less attention then two people walking next to each other.

The short jaunt to The Broker's was fast paced. Each party border lining a jog, but for entirely different reasons.

Peter, with a wide grin on his face a definite spring in his step, was charged by his wild night of passion and the prospect of never answering to Yondu ever again.

His partner knew all this, but frankly, didn't care.

At his side, Philly's gait was clipped and edgy. She just wanted to get back to the _Milano_ and into deep space, or at the very least off Xander. Remembering all the rules and proper etiquette on these up world planets made her head spin. Besides, in her book there was a very defined line between something semi-enjoyable like people watching and something more on the side of necessity such as interacting with beings.

Peter knew this, and kind of relished the abrupt change that under went the pilot when forced out of her comfort zone. Not that hard to achieve really, seeing as her 'comfort zone' ended at _Milano's_ cargo ramp.

He gave a sideways, downward glance at the Zeldonian, who came barley to his shoulders. Zeldonians were very small.

"Hey, after…" Peter tapped his satchel where the orb was hidden, "We should go out to lunch."

"What?"

"Lunch. Just the two of us."

"You want to go to a restaurant with me?" the words had a teasing edge, "are you sure you won't be busy with some other girl by then?"

"Philly," He theatrically gasped, pausing outside The Broker's shop, "You know I only have eyes for you!"

She gave a snort of laughter, "It's a shame my eyes wander."

He elbowed her in the ribs as he opened the shop's sliding metal plated door. They composed themselves as best they could.

The Broker was standing behind the back counter examining an artifact. Before Philly or Peter could get close enough to even see, it was carefully stored.

"Mr. Quill. Ms. Resh." The old man greeted with an air of professionalism. Philly released Peter's arm, browsing while the males conducted their business. It wasn't that she was excluded; meetings like this were just uninteresting.

White walls accented with thin blue lights. Glass display cases stood in straight lines, inviting guests to look but not touch.

The thing that caught her eye was a preserved flower from the frozen wasteland of Houth. The flower's name escaped her at the moment, but she did know it only bloomed naturally three week out of Houth's 593 day year. Pale pink outer petals and a blood red center, very rare.

The shop owner's raising voice made her turn with an inward groan. And Peter was always telling her _she_ was bad with people.

"…But I want to part of this transaction if Ronan is involved!"

The Broker was shoving Peter toward the door with more force then seemed possible at his age.

"Whoa, whoa," The Terran said, forcing himself to a stop, "Who's Ronan?"

Broker's eyebrow line was raised and knitted together in fear, "A Kree fanatic, outraged by the peace treaty. Who will not rest until Xandarain culture, my culture, is wiped from existence!"

He grabbed Philly's upper arm, dragging her out with Quill, "He is one whose bad side I'd rather not be on!"

"What about our bad side?" Peter demanded as the two of them were shoved out onto the street.

"Farewell Mr. Quill!" The automated doors snapped shut.

"Hey, we had a deal, Bro!" Peter yelled at the door's metal plating.

"Well that was rude," Philly put her fists on her hips, "He didn't say 'goodbye' to me."

Peter met her eyes with a miffed expression, shaking his head until briefly fixing on a point over her shoulder.

A female voice asked, "What happened?"

_Well, there goes lunch…_

Lounging against a gray support pillar was a green skinned alien.

She had dark hair, frosted magenta at the roots, sharp features. Her clothes were black and left little to the imagination. A silver handle poked out of the holster resting around her hips. She was eating a Lomfruit.

_Lomfruit must be in season, _The pilot idly thought,_ we should get some before we leave._

"…Uh, this guy just backed out of a deal with me. If it's one thing I hate it's a man with out integrity. Peter Quill, people call me Star-Lord."

A sly smile, "You have the baring of a man with honor." The women gracefully pushed herself off the wall. Took a few steps forward. The pilot noted the mystery female seemed to carry herself with a great deal of control.

Now, being ignored didn't irk Philly. No, she was irked because the last thing Peter needed was extra inflation to his ego. Anymore and she feared it might pop.

"You know, I wouldn't say that." Peter casually tossed the orb in the air and caught it, one of his annoying habits Philly'd learned to live with; "People say it _about_ me all the time. But, it's not something I'd ever say about myself-"

With an experienced motion, the green skinned women swung her foot around connecting with the center of Quill's chest. She snatched the orb out of the Terran's hands, simultaneously swinging her leg around to impact with Philly's jaw. Momentarily stunned, the Zeldonian was knocked clean off her feet.

Peter, who'd only doubled over, straightened as he pulled a bola charge and chucked it toward the fleeing alien. It's plasma tentacles engaged in mid-air, whipping around the looter's legs.

She hit the ground hard.

Philly, after scrambling to her feet with a Mando'a explicit, took off at a run after Peter. Or tried to, anyway. The pilot was grabbed by the ankles and shoved in a sack of all things.

She struggled, clawing at the seams.

There was commotion. Dialogue, she was too focused on escape to comprehend, and movement as whoever was holding her off the ground walked and shifted weight.

Yelling.

A scream.

A crash.

Footsteps running away.

She was dropped.

_Sidewalk hard..._

The pilot rolled out of the sack, catching a glimpse at the hulking silhouette of the attempted kidnapper. Un-holstering her Zapper, Philly fired two quick shots not knowing if they actually hit, and bolted, melding into the crowd.

_Have to find Peter. _Not as hard as expected, just follow the excitement.

Philly spotted him being shoved into the same sack she'd been held in moments before. The shove-er was a towering humanoid tree man, the Zeldonian couldn't see much with all the people in the way. But, she saw enough.

She didn't think, next thing she knew her hands were trying to yank the Peter filled sack as her feet kicked vainly at where she guessed the tree's shins would be.

Not one of her most level headed moments…but if not in some kind of cockpit all of her common sense seemed to fly out the air lock.

As expected her plan didn't work. A vine wrapped around her body and Philly was tossed over tree man's shoulder like a sack of spuds.

She kicked and screamed, trying to get her arms free.

A rageful battle cry.

Peter was dropped with a thud. Philly wasn't so lucky.

Remaining where she was on tree man she could see the green skinned alien wilding a sword. It struck tree man over and over with precise lethal strokes, cutting off his arms and taking big chucks out of his torso.

He didn't make a noise.

Philly managed to twist her body to avoided being sliced in two, even though she was bounced around a lot.

The vines ensnaring her moved, lifted her farther off the shoulder, off the ground.

Opening the sack, he green woman was met with a stun shot from one of Quill's blasters. She collapsed, body contorting with electricity.

The pilot, meanwhile, was suspended upside-down, face-to-face with tree man.

Another shot fired off.

Not knowing quite what to say she stuck out her tongue. The corners of tree man's mouth pulled upward. Then he frowned nudging the disembodied arms with his toe.

"It'll grow back, ya dastard," a peeved voice, this time male, said, "Would you quit whining?"

Philly turned and jerked trying to get a better view. Ready to give whomever that was a piece of her mind. What she saw almost made her laugh. Philly didn't know what she'd been expecting, but a small furry mammal with large ears certainly wasn't it.

Before anything else could happen a half dozen Nova fighters surrounded the criminals, immobilizer beams tinted everything yellow, lifting the furry mammal, tree man, the green women, and the pilot off the cement.

"_Jactna puul dirocie_." Philly cursed, raising her arms above her head. A bit confusing as she was still upside-down.

"_Subject 89P13,"_ one of the star shaped ship's pilot commanded over the speakers, "_drop your weapon."_

"Aww, crap." He muttered, complying.

"_By the authority of the Nova Core, you are under arrest_." The corpsmen started to read off the list of right and charges.

Philly was righted before too much blood went to her head.

"Why if it isn't Philly Resh, I should have known wherever Quill is you're not far behind." A friendly voice called out.

"Corpsmen Dey," She greeted one of the officials leading Peter past her, "How're you?"

"Can't complain. And you?"

"Ya know…just hanging around."

He gave a short laugh at her terrible pun, "I'll see you in possessing." He said over his shoulder.

"See ya!" was the chirped reply.

…

…

…

Corpsmen's Dey and Saal sat at the control room's desks, deep in the processing center. The perpetrators had been handcuffed, stripped of all weapons, and were being run though the so dubbed 'hall of scanners'.

CPC's, or, Criminal Possessing Centers were, at the most basic level, large metal conveyer belts.

Feet were strapped down.

Hands were cuffed; every scan imaginable was conducted, cataloged and cross-referenced.

Every little dirty detail on record was found and laid out for all in the control room to see.

"Gamora. Surgically modified and trained as a living weapon." Gamora's head turned slowly, face set in a hard expression. If Dey didn't know any better he'd say the assassin could see straight though the observation shield. "Adopted daughter of the mad titan, Thanos. Recently Thanos lent her and her sister Nebula out to Ronan; which leads us to believe that Thanos and Ronan are working together."

Corpsmen Dey pushed a button telling the conveyer belt move to on.

"Subject 89P13, calls itself 'Rocket'. The result of illegal genetic and cybernetic experiments on a lower life form." The former lower life form expressed his vexation by spitting in the corpsmen's general direction.

He was followed by...

"What the hell…?" Saal muttered.

Dey Glanced up to see the Flora Colossus, just starting to grow back both missing arms.

"They call it Groot. A humanoid plant that's been traveling recently as 89P13's personal house plant slash muscle." The tree man stepped off the podium, braking out of the foot restraints like they were nothing. He peered into the reflective surface on the other side of the observation shield.

Next...

"Peter Jason Quill, from Terra." Dey indulged in an eye-roll as the Terran started to make an obscene gesture in his own Quill fashion. "Raised from youth by a band of mercenaries called The Ravengers, led by Yondu Odonta."

"Oh…I'm sorry." Quill said with an apologetic face, "I didn't know how this machine worked."

Dey cleared his throat to keep from laughing. That would have been most unprofessional…not to mention embarrassing.

Moving on.

"Philomena Desla Resh. Quill's partner and pilot of the _Milano_. She attended Nova Flight School on full scholarship, but was expelled after her and three other cadets were caught drag racing the training fighters."

The Zeldonian was rocking back and forth on the balls of her, bobbing her blue haired head to imaginary music. She looked a mix of board and curious.

"Philly's been flying without a license ever since her's was revoked after an incident on Lee-Lu Major." Corpsmen Dey finished.

…

…

"What a bunch of A-holes." Corpsmen Saal shook his head. Mouth pressed together, not amused, "Transport all five to the Kyln."

Dey personally thought The Kyln was a bit harsh. But he bit his lip and input the orders to the computer.


	4. Chapter 4: Transport Shuttle

**Hey, I'm back! As before I've got a few things I'd like you to look at,**

**(1) To all who Faved and Followed, thank you. I don't think you know how much that means to me... (It means a lot.)**

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**Kates7896**

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**(3) I admit I kind of went nuts with changing point of view...I'm sorry if it gets a little confusing. But if you're not sure, the first name mentioned is whose POV this is after line brakes. (If no name is mentioned it's Philly)**

**(4) The reason for all the POV jumping is I wanted to try and...well jump POVs. And I wanted to se e if I'm any good at**** writing for someone other then Philly. (keeping everybody in character) Let me know how you think it turned out.**

**I really hope you like this chapter. ****Honestly I do.**

* * *

><p>Even though the five of them didn't speak (at first), it was star systems away from silent. Thrusters made the walls tremble, security measures hummed slightly where unseen power cords connected, monitors beeped as data was updated about the detainees.<p>

Air flowed in the vents throughout the walls, floor, and ceiling. Their own breathing. All the little sounds you wouldn't notice otherwise, seemed to meld into a near deafening buzz with the lack of conversation.

The transport shuttle to wherever they were shipping them off was well up to Nova Core's regulation standers. Or at least what could be seen of the holding area was. No stray objects or exposed wiring, the floor was cleaned. Every inch of dura-steel was polished almost to a reflective shine.

_Scrubbed down with the toothbrushes of unruly Nova cadets,_ Philly thought sourly.

She settled back in the hard, upright restraint chair, wiggling around to get comfortable. As comfortable as she could, metal cuffs pinned her down and bit into any exposed flesh at her wrists, ankles, and rib cage.

She missed the _Milano_.

It was hard trying not to panic. But this never happened.

Sure, _Peter_ sometimes got arrested, but he was never actually sent to prison. Philly usually let him stew in some rinky-dink jail on whatever backwater planet they were on before paying the asked for bail. Then she spent a few days giving him _bantha dung_ for being such a _dwarfnut. _

_She_ hadn't been jailed in ages. And absolutely nothing as drastic as this. This was…bizarre…

What the _kreff_ had happened to warrant Peter and her being arrested? Nova Core didn't know about the orb. The only thing they had on Philly was a few suspected accounts of smuggling. Peter had a few charges of petty theft…worthy of a slap on the wrist and a hefty bail at most.

Now she wished she'd paid more attention when they'd had their rights and charges read to them.

"Hey, you alright?" Peter called over the green skinned women sitting between them.

Philly didn't answer.

"…I…I sense you're mad at me…"

The pilot gave a snort, pulling against the restraints to catch a half a glimpse of the Terran over the chair's blinders, "Get some fresh air, you said. Stretch my legs, you said. Come see the sights… You bet your blasters I'm madder then a galaxy full a hornets!"

Peter's brown haired head poked around the side of his chair, "Well how was I supposed to know we'd be jumped? I only invited you, you didn't have to come!"

"I'm not mad at you, _doultie_! And I ain't blaming ya," She practically spat, "I'm mad 'cause I listened to you and wound up here 'cause a it!"

The Terran's voice softened, "Oh, well…I'm glad you don't think this is my fault."

Philly deadpanned, "This is your fault. That's just not why I'm mad."

Peter huffed, "You want to talk about who did what? Was my hearing off or did you really attack the soaring shrub over there one on one? You did realize you had you zapper on you, right?"

"Oh…" The Zeldonian moved back out of his view with a sniff, "Go eat a hat or something."

Peter waited a few beats before replying with a breezy assurance and a jab at her fretting.

Philly only half listened with an urge to nervisly pull at her bangs, but Peter acting so carefree did calm her down somewhat.

The door at the far end of the holding cell slid open and shut with a click and a hiss of pressurized air.

A smartly dressed pair of Corpsmen wilding standard issue blasters paraded in. They swept past Peter, turned their backs on the furred creature and tree man.

The green skinned women kept her face carefully expressionless, eyes half-lidded and fixed on a point between the two.

"Gamora." The one on the right greeted with a sneer, "we have a few more questions for you." He pressed a button on her chair. Her wrists and elbows were freed, only to have a pair of binders snapped on roughly by the other guard.

"If you don't mind of coarse." Lefty chuckled, undoing the rest, and unceremoniously hauling Gamora to her feet. She regained her equilibrium easily. Too easily for the officers who gave the assassin a sharp jab between her shoulder blades to get her moving.

The door opened.

"Hey," Philly called after the duo, "where're we headed?"

They exchanged a look. Eyebrows rose, mated with amused smirks. An, _Oh, look. The criminal wants to know where we're headed, _sort of thing.

Scornfully, the one on the right fired off a set of coordinate and their present speed, "figure it out, _sleemo._" They walked out laughing, door closing after them.

She thought.

_If Xander was positioned at…_

…_They were going at a rate of…_

…_The destination was near…_

…_That means…_

"Seven hours to go."

…

…

Gamora focused on her breathing.

_...In…out…in…out…_

It was an exercise she'd learned long ago in training.

Back when there had been more then just her and Nebula.

When lungs felt they were being incinerated by over use.

When bodies were driven to the point of collapse, then forced to keep going.

When she'd had to go though surgeries only half asleep, catching frames of what they did to her in the reflection of their eyes.

When she'd stood before the dreaded Thanos, not certain of her survival one moment to the next.

When she had watched, powerless and without any kind of protest as her brothers and sisters were slaughtered by their so-called father.

Any point in her life as far back as she could remember was ten times more terrifying then the Nova Core interrogator sitting across from her.

He must be advanced in years for his brown hair was graying at the temples. Boney fingers were steepled together. A bottle of water was sitting on the table, for her to look at and want, but not have. The interrogator took a sip.

He could see it. The daughter of Thanos was afraid.

Just not for the reasons he thought.

She was partly afraid because word had probably circled back to her father, and most assuredly Ronan, about her capture.  
>Her failure.<p>

But, mostly it was the thought of the all-powerful object some underpaid impound grunts were blissfully unaware of. The idea of an untapped, uncontrollable, practically uncontainable energy source sitting in some box on the same ship as her was chilling.

"Tell me Gamora," He began his inquiry. But it didn't matter how long they questioned her or what they did, she'd never talk.  
>For their sakes.<p>

The man sitting across from her leaned forward, asked the inevitable question,

"Where is Ronan?"

…

...

...

Peter had stopped talking awhile ago, knowing if he let Philly vent she'd calm down soon. Now the pilot could hear his even snoring added to the meaningless din. She had tried to sleep but whether it was nerves or just not being in a remotely comfortable position, she'd given up.

"I am Groot."

The undefined rule of no talking was shattered when the tree man…when Groot spoke. Philly gave an offhanded glance toward the owner of the deep…almost…woody voice. His liquid brown eyes were so fixated on her, the pilot would have done a double take if not so mesmerized.

He said again, "I am Groot."

"Hmm?" Philly gave her head a slight shake, "Oh, I'm Philly."

"I am Groot."

"…I'm Philly…"

"I am Groot."

"I'm still Philly."

He tilted his twiggy body forward as far as the restraints would allow, "I am Groot."

She mimicked him, mouth puckering in annoyance, "I am Philly."

"I am Groot."

"I am Philly."

"I am Groot."

Now, certain she was being mocked, the Zeldonian subconsciously raised her volume, "I am Philly!"

"I am Groot." The phase was said with a hint of insistence that was lost on all but one of the cell's occupants.

"I am Philly!"

Groot turned to his smaller companion, "I am Groot."

"NO!" He snapped so loud Peter woke up with an audible thump, "Now the both a you shud'up!"

…

Rocket held back a growl.

This just had to be one of those days, didn't it? Chucked full of these little inconveniences proving once and for all the galaxy just wanted to make his life miserable.

Getting attacked by that no-skirt-wearing-skirt, being cheated out of the bounty that rightfully belonged to him and Groot. (Mostly him, partly Groot.) Forced through a Nova Core CPC. Locked in a holding bay with these idiots, and then having to listen to Groot try and apologies to the Zeldonian.

How un-bounty hunter could he get? Just lucky only he could understand that gigantic maroon, else their rep would've been completely _feked _a long time ago.

What the _fek_ was a Zeldonian doing in a criminal transport shuttle, anyway? Weren't they like prissy non-violence diplomats, scared of getting their hands dirty?

She had to be a fluke or something, Rocket decided closing his eyes. 'Cause no respectable member of her race would do anything that remotely broke the law.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he felt there were eyes on him.

The Zeldonian. She was just…staring. Unblinkingly, slightly creepy, staring.

"What're you lookin at, Blue?" he snapped, upper lip curling back ever so slightly.

Philly (as was thoroughly established thanks to Groot) blinked her gray eyes and answered with blunt honesty, "I…I'm not really sure…"

"Well quit it then. You're freaking me out."

They lapsed back into silence. Rocket, unaware Philly was fascinated by his ears and in her mind he'd opened the metaphorical doors of communication a crack.

"Subject 84G…Um…42?" Her brow crinkled trying to remember the digits form the plaza, "89R7…"

"Name's Rocket," he interrupted with clenched teeth, a detectable growl leaking through his words, "Not some number."  
>If he weren't strapped down, so help him, that blue haired harpy would be mincemeat.<p>

"Sorry, _Rocket_," she huffed, "I was just wander-"

The doors opened again. Two different guards led Gamora back to her seat. They shoved her down, strapped her in without a word.

"No talking." One barked on the way out.

…

…

"So," Peter started, suddenly wide-awake, "you name's Gamora, right?"

Philly groaned. _Two hours to go…_

…

…

…

One deck up and three rooms over was Nova Core transport shuttle;472-299-M's surveillance room. Two corpsmen sat side by side. One was a gray haired old man with lots of experience managing security for the Core. He was checking the integrity of the Flora Colossus's' restrains.

The other, a young cadet on a temporary assignment, kept his saucer wide eyes glued to a screen.

The old man, Corpsmen Tash, bit back a sigh. Six months to retirement and he'd gotten saddled with a shiny to train practically form the ground up.

"Oi, Jax." He called to the cadet, "Quit your ogling and check their stats!"

Jax started to salute out of habit from the academy, but thought better of it and rolled his chair over to the lower monitor display with a 'yes sir'.

"All good, sir. Nothing out of ordinary, sir." Tash rubbed his temples, certain if that kid 'sir'd' him one more time he'd ring his skinny neck. As much as he'd insisted now he was 'just Tash', the cadet had heard the stories of him in his glory days, and now…

"Sir?" the old man whipped around, but stopped when he saw Jax's eyes were focused, not on him, but back on the monitor. Tash pushed himself up to look over the kid's shoulder, narrowing his eyes at the figure the camera was focused on.

"She's tied up, kid. Can't do us any harm."

"But she's a daughter of Thanos. I've heard he can kill a man just by thinking. And he drinks the blood of everyone who'd defy him. And…"

The door opened with a hiss and two barks of laughter. The guards who'd escorted Gamora out the first time spilled through the narrow doorframe signaling Tash's brake.

"Tash," Oom greeted, rolling a set of dice in his hand, "are you ready to lose some units?"

…

…

"How long do you think they'll survive The Kyln?" Jax asked, interrupting the men's gambling. Technically it _was_ Corpsmen Tash's brake and all units exchanged were going to be returned to it's rightful owners...so he guessed it wasn't _really_ gambling.

"Best not to think about that." Tash advised.

Oom was not as tactful, "Them? The Kyln? Three days, a week at most."

The other corpsmen ruffed along with him adding, "if they're lucky."

The young cadet turned his back on the dice game in favor of the security room's layout.

These were criminals who deserved what they got, and if that was The Kyln so be it.

The justice system had put them there.

And Jax was someone who trusted the system.

…

…

…

Even though a small part of him hoped they'd be lucky.


	5. Chapter 5: The Kyln

**Why, hello there. Welcome back, It's so good to see you again. Just a few notes,**

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* * *

><p>It was back to the not <em>quite<em> silence. With the thrusters humming, and monitors beeping, but no words. After Peter had been so rudely awakened no one else had come close to sleep.

There was no clock, or sun to tell time by and Philly had lost track of that crude idea of time pasted she'd been trying to keep. They had to be getting close to their destination though. Twice now, the prisoners had been fed tasteless ration bars. Guard came and went at no discernible interval.

Peter, Rocket, Gamora, the guards, and possibly Groot had told Philly very thoroughly, if she inquired again if they were there yet she'd somehow regret it. Among other threats ranging form Peter's attempted blackmail to Gamora's bodily harm to the guards less then imaginative suggestions to 'I am Groot',

Rocket's intimidation tactics were by far the most interesting, colorful. Philly had traveled the galaxy far and wide ever since she was knee-high to a cave hopper and her library of profanity was very extensive but…damn, even she was a little impressed.

For the umpteenth time she squirmed about in her chair, by now the blue haired woman had given up all hope of any sort of relaxation, she was just bored.

The shuttle gave a subtle quake; making Philly bolt upright as best she could strapped down. The pilot in her could tell the difference between thruster vibration and landing gear connecting with a larger vessel. She imagined both airlock systems synchronizing, and wherever they were's air filters scan the shuttle's atmospheric quality for any pathogens before they were allowed entrance.

The door at the far end of the cell opened, three corpsmen filed in without a word. Gamora was unrestrained and a pair of cuff was snapped onto her wrists. She was lined up at the door while another guard did the same to Rocket.

"Don't just stand there, Rooky," One of the guards called to the third that was standing, wide-eyed, near the doorway, "get to work."

A young voice 'yes sir'ed' with a crisp salute, taking quick steps to stand in front of a prisoner.

The corpsmen bent down to try to undue the Zeldonian's restraints. His brow furrowed. Philly smirked to herself at the cadet's (she could tell by his uniform) inexperience. The other men had slowed in their tasks, waiting to see if the boy would improvise or admit his ignorance.

Once upon a time that had been Cadet Philly Resh, dealing with the awful superiors, hoping beyond hope she wouldn't make a mistake and screw up her scholarship. _Stupid conscience._

"Hit the blue button, then put in the security code." She muttered so only he could hear.

The cadet looked at her in surprise but his fingers obeyed. The restraints popped open. He whispered a grateful, "Thanks." Before motioning her to stand up. Philly rolled her eyes and held out her wrists.

"Kinky." She drawled loudly as he hastily snapped the glowing cuffs on, "You treat all the girls like this or just the ones you'll never see again?"

Even though what she'd said was incredibly mild, the cadet's ears turned red as Neonan sand, making his bleach blond hair stand out even more. The other guards snickered as the boy stammered.

"…N-No…I…Uh…I wasn't….I…_JAX_!" He yelled for lack of something to say, "My name is Jax!"

The pilot fell in line behind Peter, both of them laughing at Jax's expense. Groot was pushed roughly forward, or as roughly as two corpsmen could push a nine-foot tall tree, and Jax opened the door, doing his best to avoid eye contact.

"Ta-Ta, Jax!" The Zeldonian's voice echoed slightly off the walls as the group was marched away. Only when Oom, the last in line, turned the corner did he let out the breath he'd been holding and started his trot back to the surveillance room.

…

…

…

They were led down the dura-steel halls to somewhere…all Philly could see was Peter's leather coat, being as small as she was. They pasted through an arch where the wall's pattern changed on the other side.

"Welcome to The Kyln." The guard in front of Gamora sneered.

Philly squeaked, "The Kyln? We're at The Kyln!?"

"What's The Kyln?" Peter asked.

Rocket gave a snort, "They call The Kyln, 'the stomach of the prison system.' No matter how bad you are going in…you come out pretty _frikin_' bad. I guess most a Nova Core wants ta uphold the laws; but these one's here, they're corrupt and curl. But, hey" he laughed, "That's not my problem, I ain't gonna be here long. I've escaped _twenty-two_ prisons, this one's no different."

"That only means you've been senseless enough to get caught _twenty-two_ times." The Zeldonian muttered, just loud enough for all to hear.

"You want ta talk about senseless, Blue? What was that master plan a yours when you took on my pal back on Xander?

"You two 're lucky the broad showed up, 'cause otherwise me and Groot would be collecting those bounties right now and you'd be getting drawn and quartered by Yondu and those Ravengers."

Peter rolled his eyes, "We've had a lot of folks try and kill us over the years. We're not about to be brought down by a tree and a talking raccoon."

Rocket's muzzle scrunched up in distasted, ears twitched, "What's a raccoon?"

The guard at the head of the troop called out to, 'HALT!'

"Ha, 'what's a raccoon?'" The Terran repeated, "It's what you are, stupid."

"Ain't no thing like me, 'cept me." Rocket answered firmly, pounding his fists on his chest for emphasis.

Peter sighed and addressed the green skinned woman in front of the line, "So this orb has a shining blue arc-of-the-covenant maltase falcon sorta vibe, what is it?"

"I am Groot."

"So what?" The Terran snapped over his shoulder, turned back to demand, "What's the orb?"

"I have no words for an honor-less thief." Was Gamora's even response.

"Pretty high and mighty coming from the lackey of a genocidal maniac." Gamora glanced down at Rocket, and then snapped her eyes forward.

"Yeah, I know who you are. Anyone who's anyone knows who you are."

"Yeah, we know who you are," Peter echoed. He looked back at Philly, "who is she?"

"She was sold by her dad to the Kree guy, Ronan." The pilot replied, eyes narrowing, "The reason The Broker threw us out."

"I am Groot."

"Yeah, you said that." Peter told the tree man, annoyed.

"I wasn't retrieving the orb for Ronan." Gamora explained as the armed escort punched orders into his armband. The doors opened. Rocket's ears perked up. "I was betraying him. I had an agreement to sell it to a third party."

"I am Groot."

The Terran rolled his eyes, "Well that's just as _fascinating_ as the first eighty-nine times you told me that…What is _wrong_ with 'Giving Tree' here?"

"Well he don't know talking good like me and you," Rocket explained in a cheeky tone, "So his vocabulistics is limited to 'I' and 'am' and 'Groot'. Exclusively in that order."

"I'll tell you what, that's going to ware real thin real fast if I-" Peter stopped short, causing Philly to collide with his back.

They were going past the impound cage. A blue/gray-skinned corpsmen was playing with Peter's Walkman, trying on the headphones. The volume was turned up so loud Philly could hear the opening verse to _Hooked on a feeling_ by _Blue Swede._

"Hey! Put that away!" he yelled, slipping through the barred sliding door with a muttered, 'son of a-' just as it was closing. "Hey, listen to me you big blue bastard,"

Philly groaned, "Just let it go." He didn't listen.

"Take those headphones off, that's mine! Those belong to impound, that tape and that player is mine!"

The guard pulled out an electrified baton, used for keeping the prisoners in their place. He jabbed the end in the Terran's ribcage. Peter fell to his knees, but wouldn't give up, "Hooked on a feeling, Blue Swede, 1973! That song belongs to me!"

The guard's only answer was to electrocute him again. Several times.

"He's an idiot." Gamora observed drily. Peter's prone form contorted and spazzed on the floor with electricity.

"Yeah…" Philly agreed with a sigh, "But he's my idiot. And he pays half the bills."

…

…

…

They were separated. Females to the left, males to the right. Gamora and Philly were shoved into a dura-steel room, and forced to strip down to their skivvies. Philly had to take down her hair.

Before she could decide weather or not this was some sort of a peep show, they were _hosed down _with bright orange fluid. It was cold, and reeked liked disinfectant. It also stained _everything _neon_._

The two of them were headed by armed drones hovering overhead into yet another room. This one was filled with yellow prison garb for several species in every size. Philly found something and dressed herself. A box of hair ties was set out, the pilot choose two and started to put her now sopping wet blue/orange locks into two sloppy buns.

Gamora took one to pull her hair back. Then another door opened and Peter and the others were waiting on the other side. When he saw the pilot his serious face briefly split into a mirthful grin, "Nice tan Philly."

She eyed his new tangerine complexion, "You're one to talk." He elbowed her, following the direction of the guards motioning down a few steps. A bedroll was slammed into their stomachs.  
>The two stopped smiling.<p>

The main holding area of the prison had a cafeteria-style setup with doorways and cells for the prisoners to sleep. A higher level made of ramps and ledges for the staff to get around and a watchtower in the center of the yard gave the guards strategic vantage points.

Prisoners did prison things with much shouting and noise, not paying particular attention to the new comers.

An object hit the metal floor at Gamora's feet. Like a twig that caused a dam to burst, more and more projectiles flew threw the air, joined by insults and threats, all aimed at the daughter of Thanos.

"Like I said," Rocket yelled over the din, "She's got a rep. Lot of prisoners here have lost their families to Ronan and his goons. She'll last a day, tops."

Peter eyed the surrounding beings, "The guards will protect her right?"

"They're here to stop us from getting out. They don't care what we do what we do to each other inside."

Gamora held her head high, "Whatever nightmare the future holds…are dreams compared to what's behind me."

Philly tugged on Peter's yellow shirt, "I'm begging you. If this is some sort of elaborate prank…you win. I want to go home now."

"Check out the new meat." A tall blue skinned Ouger smirked at the crew of _Milano_. Philly did her best to not visibly show fear or any sign of weakness. If only her knees would quit shaking…

The thug trailed a meaty digit down Peter's face, glanced at Philly, "I'm gonna slather you like Nalaven jelly." He chuckled.

Groot jamming two twiggy fingers up the convict's nose interrupted anything else he was going to say. Deeper and deeper the tree man's fingers went into the blue nasal cavity, invoking howls of pain.

"Let's get something straight," Rocket raised his voice to be heard over the noise, "these two here's _our_ booty. You want to get ta them you go through _us_. Or…more accurately…_we go through you_."

Groot twisted his wrist; the convict fell to the floor. The tree man stepped over the moaning body, following Rocket. Philly gave a low whistle and scampered after them.

"I'm with them." Peter's quip echoed slightly behind her.

…

…

…

Hugging the bedroll tightly to her chest Philly made her way to the assigned sleeping quarters they gave to females. Lurking with in each shadow was a villain; every misplaced sound was a mob coming after her. She found the cell (not soon enough), waved the access card for the doors to open. It was even darker inside, when the Zeldonian's eyes adjusted to the change she saw Gamora crouched inside and to the left of the doorframe.

"Hiya, roomie!" She greeted brightly.

Determining the much smaller female was no threat; Gamora laid down turning toward the wall.  
>Doors shut.<p>

Philly took the other bed without a word. It was hard, uncomfortable. She sorely missed her hammock back on the ship. She knew it was time to hit the sack…oh, but the things she wanted to say…and how she needed to talk to someone.

…

…

"Gamora?"

"…"

"Gamora? Are you asleep?"

"…Yes…"

"…Are you scared?"

"…Go to sleep. We need our rest."

"But are you scared?" Philly asked as a small child might, keeping her volume at a whisper even though they were the only ones present.

"Don't talk."

The Zeldonian gave a soft snort, "Well at lest I'm not the only one shaking in her boots."

On the other side of the room, bedding rustled, "I am _not_ 'shaking in my boots'."

"My momma says, 'everybody is afraid every now and then. But, fear is good sometimes. It tells you when you're about to do something stupid, or if you're in a sticky situation…she also says me an' Peter don't have enough fear."

…

…

"Your mother is correct."  
>Philly snorted at the dark room.<p>

…

…

…

"You kicked me in the face."

"…So I did." Gamora admitted in a balanced voice.

"You should apologize."

"So I should."

This time it was Philly who rolled to her side. Gamora's prone form was slightly illuminated by the shaft of light coming in through the cell door. She was on her back, hands clasped over her abdomen, like a fairytale princess might. A strange picture for such a fierce person.

The pilot shook her head, too exhausted to deal with the other woman's pride, and finely feeling the effect of almost thirty hours with only about four hours of rest.

"…Night, 'Mora." Philly mumbled sleepily, starting to recite a 'good-night' from her childhood, "May your dreams be sweet and few your sorrow, for don't surrender," she yawned, "there's always the 'morrow…"

There were more versus, but she was just so tired that…she…was falling…aslee-…

…

…

…

Perhaps it was just her ears playing tricks, but Philly could have sworn, as she drifted off to sleep, there'd been a whispered 'Good night' from across the room. She was probably mistaken though…


	6. Chapter 6: Enter The Destroyer

**Hi again, so here's the next chapter. I want to thank everyone who added this story to their favorite/alert list...or if you're just reading this chapter. I want to give a heap of thanks to MagicSprinkels, PlaceOfDreamsAndNightmares, Sapphire-Willow, and J. for reviewing. **

**I'd also like to mention I wrote a sorta Christmas one-shot called _That Terran Tree Thing_. It features Philly and Peter before the movie...might be worth checking out...or not, it doesn't matter. **

**Anyway, Happy New Year and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p>There's a place when you sleep…that place where there are no dreams just beautiful, blissful unconsciousness. That's were Philly was when the door rolled open with a grading noise. That's where she groggily stirred when a muffled scream and hushed voices growled across the room.<p>

That was why her first instinct was to blindly whip her blanket toward the nonsense as hard as she could yelling, "_Ish'ka_, Peter! Go away and let me sleep!"

A grimy hand was slapped over her mouth; she was dragged off the bed.

Suddenly wide-awake and wondering what the _fek _was going on, she did the natural thing. Kicked her feet, and tried to yell for help.  
>Yesterday's affair hit her like a ton of bricks.<p>

_Oh, _Kreff_…and I was hoping that was all just a nightmare…_

"That one too if she can't be quiet." A horse voice instructed. The Zeldonian attempted to explain that, 'yes' she'd keep her mouth shut, and 'no' she wasn't with Gamora, but the words were muffled together into an unintelligible mess.

It took three men to restrain Gamora and transport her out, but only one to drag Philly after them. How humiliating…

"Hey!" an accented voice sounded, stopping the convicts in their tracks. A uniformed guard eyed the each person up and down. He hand rested lightly on a blaster strapped across his shoulder, "what's going on here?"

"Just…uh, giving these fine ladies a tour…" the brute holding onto Gamora's left arm shrugged.

The guard gave another once-over, settled on the daughter of Thanos, "are you Gamora? As in Thanos? Ronan?"

She gave a curt nod, not even a microbe-expression betraying the slightest emotion.

The guard's lips curved into a malicious smirk, "take her down to the showers," he told the men, "It'll be easier to clean up the blood down there." They gave a whoop and jogged down the halls, females in tow.

The showers were filthy and open with nary a privacy screen to speck of. Nozzles hung from the ceiling and drains dotted the tile floor. It was then and there, as the rabid prisoners were lugging Philly to her possible doom, she decided she would not be showering here.

EVER.

One on the men standing off to the side kept a firm grip on the pilot's upper arms.

Her green skinned roommate was thrown roughly at a support pillar. She was pinned. There were three of them, one on each side and one in front. Two were pressing crud knifes to her throat.

"Gamora." A fanged alien sneered, "Consider this you death sentence for your crimes against the galaxy." He pulled his elbow back, made as if to plunge the blade into her neck.

"You _dare_?" A deep voice rumbled through the hollow showers. In the doorway, silhouetted by a shaft of light was a herculean like outline. It stalked forward. The men tensed and shuffled feet nervously.

The new comer's hard gaze swept over the seen, "You know who I am, yes?"

An alien who was holding a knife swallowed thickly, "You're Drax…the destroyer."

"Do you know why they call me this?" The cool, controlled voice asked.

The same fanged man answered him. "You've slain dozens of Ronan's minions."

"Ronan murdered my wife, Hovet, then my daughter, Comariea. He slaughtered them where they stood. And he _LAUGHTED_." The eruption of vocals rung harshly through the hollow shower room. It's echo died as Drax considered Gamora with an expression that was half ice, half rage, "Her life is not yours to take…he killed my family, I shall kill one of his in return."

"Of course Drax. Here…" The thug who'd been doing all the talking offered his prison knife. Gamora, sensing opportunity, moved with swift precision. She struck the man holding on to her arm with the heel of her hand to his nose. Grabbed the hilt of both knifes, sharply twisting it out of the convicts' hands braking one wrist. Her arms extended, blades pressed to the fanged alien and the destroyer's necks.

"I'm no family to Ronan, or Thanos." She took a step back, lowered the blades, and then let them drop with a clang. "I'm your only hope at stopping him."

With an enraged cry Drax seized her windpipe, slamming her back into the support pillar. Philly flinched at the sudden commotion.

"Women," He cried, "Your words mean nothing to me!"

"Hey, hey, hey," Peter called, halting Drax. Philly was sure she'd never been so relived to see the Terran before. He met Philly's eyes briefly, running his fingers through his hair. The 'are you okay?' sign. She tilted her head side to side in an improvised 'so-so'. Peter gave a brief half-smile, turned back to the immediate problem.

"You know, if killing Ronan is really your sole purpose, I don't think this is the best way to go about it."

"Are you not the man this wench attempted to kill?" Drax growled.

Peter gave a somewhat forced laugh, "well, I mean she's hardly the first women to try and do that to me. Look." He pulled up his shirt, gesturing to a mark under his pectoral, "Look this is from a smoke'n hot Ra'Jac girl…stabbed me with a fork, didn't like me skipping out on her at sunrise."

Philly remembered that. That crazy harpy hunted them down in a food joint while they were waiting for a client, a whole _system_ away from where they'd left her.

"And this…" The Terran turned around, showing off a long thin scar running across his lower back. He nodded toward Philly, "she gave me this. With a shovel." The pilot resisted the urge to correct him. It wasn't a shovel.

Peter tugged down his collar, "…Right here a Kree girl tried to rip out my thorax. She caught me with a skinny little Auscavarian who worked in Nova records. I was trying to get information." He threw his hands up defensively.

Philly coughed something like, "sure you were."

She was ignored, "You ever seen an Auscavarian? Tentacles, needles for teeth, you think I'm seriously interested in that? Well…you don't…care…"

His hands were still raised, but more in surrender, to put everyone at ease, as he continued, "But here's the point, she betrayed Ronan. He's coming back for her. And when he does," Peter made a gesture across his neck, "that's when you…"

Drax's brow line furrowed with a hard, slightly suspicious expression, "Why would I put my finger on his throat?"

"What?"

…

"Oh, no it's a symbol." Peter explained, "This is a symbol for you slicing his throat."

"I would not slice his throat. I would cut his head clean off."

"It's a general expression for you killing somebody. You've heard of this," he asked the speaker, sawing at his neck with his index finger, "You've seen this, right? You know what that is."

"Yeah," the man nodded. A look from the destroyer, "No."

"Well, she knows what this is." He nodded toward the Zeldonian.  
>"Only 'cause you explained it to me. Rather poorly, I might add."<p>

Peter rolled his eyes, "what I'm saying is you want to keep her alive…don't do his work for him."

Drax turned to the woman still being choked by his mammoth grip. It seamed to take him forever to make his decision. He let go; Gamora fell to the tile with a sharp intake of air, rubbing at her neck.

Slowly, Drax glanced at Peter, Philly, then to the blade in his hand, "I like you knife, I'm keeping it."

The fanged speaker waited until Drax had walked past him, well out of earshot before slouching in disappointment, "that was my favorite knife."

Philly wrestled out of her captor's grip, trotting after Peter, who was chasing after Gamora, who was trying to get away form him. Soft clicks of nails on dura-steel made her turn around, fists raised defensively.

"Relax, Blue it's just me," Rocket drawled, catching up to her in a few bounds, "put those away a' fore you hurt yourself."

The Zeldonian stopped short, wide-eyed and mouth gaping open and closed like a gup out of water.

"YOU WERE HERE THIS WHOLE TIME?!" Stealth be damned, she was ticked. And sleep deprived. Rocket trotted past her without a second glance.

Philly lowed her voice to a hiss, "I thought I had a bounty on me, what about collecting the units? Or are we wanted dead or alive?"

"20K each, alive and well," was the nonchalant reply, "they were after greenie, not you. Don't go gettin' ya pig-tails in a twist." Philly huffed, opened her mouth to retort. Peter's raising voice cut her off.

"Listen, I could care less weather you live or whether you die." Peter told a yellow prison garbed back rather loudly.

Gamora whirled around, annoyance sparking in her dark eyes, "Then why stop the big guy?"

"Simple, you know where to sell my orb." The newly former Ravenger said like it was obvious.

"How are we going to sell it when _we_ and _it_ are still _here_?"

Peter gave her a smirk, nodding down toward the small being who had his arms crossed over his chest, "My friend Rocket here has escaped twenty-two prisons."

"Oh, we're gettin' out," the bounty hunter scoffed, "then we're going straight to Yondu to retrieve your bounties."

Peter had his hands clasped in front of him, bouncing slightly on his toes. He had the same charming, almost a smile, know-it-all half smirk that was reserved for whenever there a plan was concocting in that brain of his plastered all over his face. _Or when he was ripping someone off…_

"How much is your buyer willing to pay for that orb?" He asked Gamora.

The assassin glanced at the three criminals in turn, but was carful to not meet their skeptical scrutiny, "Four billion units."

Rocket's ears stood up, jaw dropping open with a, "What!?"

"Holy shit." Peter doubletaked. This would be easier then he thought.

Philly almost fell over the railing, "For that dinky little ball?"

"That orb is my opportunity to get away from Thanos and Ronan," Gamora explained, meeting their eyes, "If you free us…I'll lead you to the buyer and I'll split the profit between the four of us."

"I am Groot." The tree man was inside the sleeping area, twiggy fingers looped through the steel criss-cross pattern.

"Five of us," Rocket corrected with a sigh and a hand gesture, "asleep for the danger, awake for the money. As per _fekkin_ usual."

"…Well, all righty then." Philly yawned, turned on her heel and trotted off in the general direction of where Gamora and her were assigned to bunk.

"Where're you going?" The Terran called after her retreating form.

"Still haven't had a good night sleep in…for more then I want to think about. Where do you think?"

A laugh, "Good night, Philly."

A stifled yawn, "Night, Peter."

…

…

…

Three, maybe four, hours later found the two women back in the not so secure sleeping quarters. The room was once again dark and silent. Every crackle and click of the station settling and shifting seemed to be amplified ten times.

_Stay alert, stay awake_, Gamora's instincts and training told her. If the door was opened once it could most certainly be done again. She was on her back, hands resting at her side. Uneasiness had taken hold of the daughter of Thanos a particular edginess she hadn't felt since Modification. Anything in her past was ten times worse then this. But now…she was alone with not even Nebula to just simply be there, suffering by her side.

On the other side of the room Philly's mind tossed and turned. The pilot had a terrible case of the jitters. Thoughts seemed to ricochet in her skull, all the excitement must have kicked her adrenalin into overdrive and was making sleep dance dauntingly out of reach. She missed the _Milano_. She missed the hammock she always slept in. The slowly swaying hammock strung up in the cockpit where she spent most of her time.

Most assuredly, without a doubt, 100%...

This was Peter's fault.

She was sure of it.

It was his fault she didn't get enough sleep last night. His fault for steering her to Morag, and his idea to leave the Ravengers. His fault Yondu put a bounty on them, leading to them getting arrested.

But for listing to him…that was Philly's fault.

Another thing Philly was sure of, she admitted with an audible sigh…she was never going to get any sleep tonight.

…

…

…

…_Nova cadet Jax Do'nal has hereby completed his six-month trial aboard Nova prison transport shuttle 472-299-M..._

…_Will be resigned to Nova Core headquarters located on Xander, effective immediately… _


	7. Chapter 7: Escape

**Hey, look it's my first chapter of 2015, wahoo, yeah!...Alright so first I want to point out that I don't own Guardians of the Galaxy(duh) and I never will. I want to thank everyone who has added this story to their Favorites list and/or Alerts list. ****About a hundred on the alert list, more then I've ever gotten! **

**A ****special thank you to Guest, CatGirlFireflare, J. , areskickass13, and gloop for reviewing. whenever I get a review I smile like a fool and punch the air...I am such a dork...-_-**

**A dork who isn't very good at writing action sequences...this chapter is so long because I just wanted get this part over with. It might not be very good. But hey, it's a chapter, right?**

**Anyway, please tell me what you think and enjoy~**

* * *

><p>A very unpleasant, very shrill bell sounded through the hollowed halls, demanding that every prisoner get up. If Philly had actually gotten to sleep (and she hadn't) that rude awakening would have put her over the edge. Her day would have been ruined, imagine that!<p>

Sarcasm.

Perhaps the Zeldonian had gotten a few winks here and there, but the majority of the night cycle had been spent thinking of the sky and _Milano's _cockpit. What the _feg_ was so _bombed_ special about that orb, and what Rocket's big plan was for getting out of here.

Probably near ten hours and she still couldn't think of a single way back to the ship. A ton of half thought through ideas crossed her mind but all of them played out with someone getting shot up before phase two.

She rolled un-gracefully off the hard bunk, tossing the bedroll into a sloppy pile. Gamora, the trained warrior she was, folded her's neatly, ignoring her roommate's yawned 'good morning'.

…

…

…

Of course there were a few things that could instantly improve her mood slightly, however sour she was. One of those things just happened to be waiting in line for the slop they called food here. They saw each other at almost exactly the same time.

Philly opened her arms for a hug, jogging toward her partner, "Self-absorbed, rep obsessed, philanderer with commitment issues!"

"Know-it-all, pack-rat who thinks she's the best pilot in the galaxy!" Peter greeted cheerfully, lifting her off the ground and swinging the petite Zeldonian in circles.

"Would you cut that out?" Rocket snapped, grabbing a tray of food, "you're calling attention _and_ you look completely stupid."

"Oh, yeah," the back on her feet Philly said, getting her meal, "you got a plan for us to skedaddle. What do we do?"

"If we're gonna get out of here we're gonna need to get into that watch tower," Rocket nodded discreetly toward the two-story tower in the middle of the complex, "And to do that I'm gonna need a few things. The guards wear security bands to control their ins and outs. I need one."

They followed his gaze to a guard on the upper level punching buttons on his security band, the door behind him opened.

Gamora turned her head front, trying to avoid observing at the guard for too long, "leave it to me."

"Second, I'll need something to strip wires with. Anything thin and sharp should do."

"M'kay, I got that one," Philly nodded, blue pig-tail buns bobbing, "what else?"

"That dude there," an older being limping on a cybernetic leg, "I need his prosthetic leg."

"His leg?" Peter echoed skeptically.

"Yeah, God knows I don't need the rest of him. Look at him, he's useless."

The Terran shrugged, lots of shoulder, hands occupied with a food tray, "Alright." They walked down three steps to get to the cafeteria area.

The five grabbed an empty table, Rocket taking the spot at the head, Gamora sitting to his right and Peter and Philly squeezed in together at his left.

"Hey, how 'bout this?" The pilot waved her butter knife about.

"Too dull." Shot down without even a glance. "And finely, on the wall back there is a black panel, blinky yellow light. Ya see it?"

The three humanoids turned in near sync to look as subtly as they could while turning in near sync.

"Yeah."

"There's a Quarnex battery behind it, purplish box, green wires. To get into that watchtower I _defiantly_ need it."

"How are we supposed to do that?" Peter asked.

"Well supposedly these bald bodies find the two a you attractive," The bounty hunter nodded at the females, "so maybe one of you could work out some sort of trade."

"Well _that's_ _not_ going to happen."

"You must be joking."

"No," Rocket shrugged, lot of hand, less shoulder, "I really heard they find you two attractive."

Philly rolled her eyes, turned around to ask Groot if-….

…_Um…where'd he go…?_

"Look, it's twenty feet up in the air and it's in the most heavily guarded part of the prison." Peter pointed out, leaned closer to the center of the table, "It's impossible to get up there with out getting seen."

_He was there a second ago…How could they lose someone that huge?_

"I got one plan and that plan requires a _firkin_ Quarnex battery so FIGURE IT OUT!" Rocket's voice rose, ears pulling back and teeth bared briefly, "Can I get back to it? Thanks. Now this is important, once the battery is removed the entire prison is going to slam into emergency mode. So once you have it we have to move quickly. So you definitely have to get that _last_."

The lights went out with the sound a big machine makes when you turn it off. Alarms started blaring. The group turned to see a smiling Groot, offering, probably, the Quarnex battery.

_Oh, hey. There he is._

Rocket threw his hand up in exasperation, "Or we could just get it first and improvise!"

"I'll get the arm band."

"Leg."

"So this is what an emergency mode looks like."

He pulled at his face with a groan as the table's other three occupants rose, setting off to retrieve their designated items.

…

…

Philly's quest for something sharp started with standing on the tabletop to get a better view. She couldn't see anything that could work…but she hadn't expected it to be that easy. Nothing for her ever was.

Came with the occupation.

And her luck.

All around convicts stood, scurrying out of the way. Of what, Philly didn't have to wait long to find out.

Drones.

Hovering drones equipped with spotlights and blasters, both stun and lethal, zoomed it from various hallways. Five or six of them swarmed the yard, some hovering around the other inmates, others surrounded Groot. A guard's voice sounded through the drones' speakers.

"_Prisoner, drop the device immediately and return to your cell or we will open fire."_

Groot eyed the drones, vines and twigs slowly sprouting in a somehow threatening way, "_I AM GROOOOOT!"_

They open fired. Philly jumped to the floor, diving under the table. She couldn't see exactly what was going on. But there were a lot of explosions and yelling, the alarms were still going. The air smelled like the plasma from the shots, and burning metal, flesh, and a hint of wood.

Something landed on top of the table she was under. The pilot scurried on her hand and knees, keeping her head down and eyes opened for something sharper then a butter knife.

…

…

"_All prisoners return to your sleeping areas."_

Rocket couldn't afford the eye-roll, dodging blaster fire as he bounded across the dura-steel floor and up Groot's leg to his shoulder.

"You idiot!" He yelled, latching to his friend's barky neck, "How'my supposed to fight these things without my stuff?"

Groot's array of branches he'd sprouted held up against the next wave of shots. But Rocket knew that wouldn't hold for much longer, they needed something for offence.

And fast, or this'd be a very long day…

…Or a very short day.

…

…

Drax saw the escape attempt unfold. He watched until it was about to be forted by a half dozen guard on foot wielding plasma charged blasters.

Opportunity.

The destroyer swiftly vanquished the party of foes, too easily for his liking. He scoped up a discarded weapon from one of the fallen guards.

"Creepy little beast," He shouted to the being on the shoulder of a tree man. The creature turned just in time to catch the air-born blaster.

With comfortable motions the creature cocked the standard issue blaster effortlessly. The corners of his mouth pulled up exposing his sharp teeth, "Oh, yeah."

…

…

Across the room, the blue-haired Zeldonian still hunted for a sharp thingy. A burst of blaster fire and a roaring battle cry forced her by instinct to take cover behind the serving counter. Bodies and drones dropped like rain all around. If they made it out of here alive, it'd be a miracle.

A _fekking _miracle.

…

…

"You need my what?" the old man asked disbelieving in his cell. The old man searched the younger's face; sure this was some sort of joke.

Peter gave the man a 'what're you gonna do' shrug. There was no time to con him out of it. He sighed and named a price.

The man laughed in the thief's face and named _his_ price.

…

…

Philly went through the drawers and cabinets the serving counter had to offer. Potts, pans, trays, dull utensils. Nothing seemed to fit her needs and time seemed to be running out. A green and yellow blur caught her eye on the second level. The worrier assassin Gamora moved swiftly, taking down assailants with expert precision. Not a step was wasted in her lethal dance.

_Now why didn't she do that last night?_ Philly wondered, pausing in her quest, _you know where we were about to be gutted in the showers!_

With a huff and a curse the pilot gave up on the serving counter. Hugging the walls as she sprinted. Apparently this prison didn't leave weapons out for inmates to get their hands on. Of course the one rule they follow had to be that one.

How in _Houth_ was she supposed to find a shar-

She tripped. She fell. She let out an admittedly girl-ish shriek.

The Zeldonian rolled over onto her elbow to see a male on his back, knocked out cold by falling debris no doubt. Her eyes flickered down to his feet, what she'd tripped on, then widened. Holstered in a filthy sock, wrapped in dirty cloth was a crud prison shank.

Philly grabbed and un-wrapped the knife tested it with her index finger.

_That'll do!_

She leapt to her feet, racing toward the center of the commotion, "Hey, think fast!" Rocket and Groot turned at her voice. Philly briefly contemplated throwing the knife…but decided sliding it across the floor was the most logical choice. A twig passed the sharp thingy up to Rocket when it hit Groot's foot.

Mission accomplished.

"Rocket!" Gamora pitched the armband from the second story platform.

Rocket caught it easily and got to work, "Get to the tower!" he commanded

More then halfway there, Philly didn't need to be told twice. She started climbing the ladder rungs when an enlarged woody hand ensnared her torso, pulling her up. The pilot stumbled over the railing where Gamora was waiting.

Rocket was at the watchtower's doors fiddling with the control panel.

Peter pulled himself over the rail with a grunt, "Little help here?"

Glad he was still alive, but not willing to let him know that, the pilot laughed and relieved him of the cybernetic leg until he was on his feet. Another figure alighted on the ramp. Philly's eyes went wide and she took two whole steps back, head tilting back 90 degrees. Drax the destroyer looked down at the small Zeldonian with a slight frown.

She gave a nervous smile, "Hello, again. Long time no…you trying to off my roommate."

…

…

…

The watchtower's guard franticly worked the control panel. That repetitive alarm, and a non-stop recording that ordered all prisoners back to their cells was still going on and on and on and on…

What had happened to his easy, breezy post with constant salary?

His finger jammed down the comm. button for the guard's earpieces, "We need all available guards in full combat gear. I re-"

_Click. Wirrrrrrl. Screech._

That set of noise, in that particular order could only mean one thing. The locking mechanism to the control booth had unlocked with a click. The ancient door's parts whirling alive and creaking open with a screech. He turned expecting the worst.

And wasn't disappointed.

Two of the beings that stood in the doorway were immediately recognizable as Drax the destroyer, and Gamora, a daughter of Thanos.

And the two bounty hunters who'd made a scene yesterday in the cafeteria over the last pair, a Zeldonian and a Terran.

Six of them, standing together, coldly staring the poor, corrupt guard into surrender. In self-preservation, he did the only seeable move.

He gave up.

He was thrown out.

He was so fired.

…

…

…

Within the watchtower it was cramped when six people were jammed inside. Rocket nimbly alighted on the tech's seat and started inputting commands into the computer. Philly, in-between Peter and the back of the chair, watched every move over his shoulder.

Gamora turned when something hard and bare brushed against her back, there stood the last person she wanted to see. The warrior inwardly cursed herself for allowing Drax an ambush opportunity and hastily masked her start with hostile intent.

"Spare me your foul gaze, women!" He all but roared.

She turned in Peter 's direction, "why is this one here?"

"We promised him her could stay by your side 'till he kills you boss. I always keep my promises (when they're to muscle-bound whack jobs who'll kill me if I don't)," the Terran dumped the cybernetic leg on the dash with a cheerful, "Well, here ya go."

Not stopping whatever he was doing, "Oh, I was just kidding about the leg, I just need these three things." Rocket said, a hit of a smirk in his voice.

"What?!"

This time the furred being turned with a laugh, "I thought it'd be funny. Was it funny? No wait, what'd he look like hopping around?"

"I had to transfer him 30,000 units!"

Rocket snickered. Philly too, in spite of the fact they were all most likely going to die.

The snickering didn't last long.

"How are we going to leave?" Drax challenged as a new wave of drones swooped around, targeting the tower. The viewing windows shuddered, but held against the open fire of blasters.

"Well he's got a plan," Peter answered nodding at the bantam male who worked the touch-screen with purpose, "Right? Or is that another thing you made up?"

A hardly reassuring, "I have a plan, I have a plan."

The tower gave another shudder, Drax maintained his balance without assistance, "Cease your yammering and relive us form this prison confinement."

"Yeah," Peter huffed, bracing himself against the wall, "I'll have to agree with the walking thesaurus on that one."

"Do not ever call me a thesaurus." Frigid words, un-blinking glare.

Peter slanted back warily, "It's just a metaphor, dude."

At the control panel Rocket gave a short laugh, hands unpausing, "His people are completely literal. Any metaphors 're gonna go over his head."

"Nothing goes over my head. My reflexes are too fast, I would catch it."

Gamora's voice was subdued, even tame as she realized, "I'm going to die surrounded by the biggest idiots in the galaxy."

"Eh, somehow it could be worse." Philly shrugged.

A herd of heavily armored guards marched on sight wielding heaver hardware.

"Spoke too soon."

Peter disguised a gulp with an obvious statement. "Those are some big guns."

The dozen or-so guards dropped to a knee, resting the bazookas on their shoulders. A man who looked relatively in charge stood behind and to the left of the firing squad. His mouth moved in a way that suggested loud vocals, but the soundproof watchtower canceled him out.

One shot fired off impacting with a view window. The Plexiglas hairline fractured but didn't shatter. The tower's occupants tried to keep up right as it did more then shudder.

"Rodent, we are ready for your plan." Gamora, clipped and tense.

"Hold on!" Rocket had pried a grate open, using the knife to do…something to the exposed wires and the Quarnex battery.

Another shot. Another cracked window. Another brief, yet violent tremor.

At the most absurd time did Drax finely get a good look at the mastermind behind the escape. His face was one of recognition, "I recognize this animal, we roast them over a flame pit as children, their flesh is quite delicious!"

"Not helping!"

A third shot was splintering. Shards of the window spilled onto the floor, and through those tiny gaps leaked in a cacophony of shouting and drone activity.

"_All fire, on my command!"_

"Why didn't they open with firing all at once?" Philly wondered out loud.

"_Three…."_

Peter tensely quipped, "You're asking that now?"

"…_Two..."_

"Well excuse me if that's what goes through my head." She huffed.

"_One!"_

Philly squeezed her eyes shut waiting for…any second now…

_Ummmm…_

She cautiously opened her eyes, jaw dropping as things floated past the cracked window. Everyone and everything outside the tower was suspended in mid-air, harmlessly drifting and not at all in a hurry. She gave a low whistle.

Gamora leaned toward the glass to get a better look, "You turned off the artificial gravity, everywhere but in here."

"That is so cool." Philly.

An iota smugly, Rocket pushed and pulled levers, flicked switches and pushed buttons without a word. The watchtower disengaged from where it stood; now free it gently ascended. He tapped on the computer touch-pad keys to give more direction. The drones complied, firing up thrusters and attaching with the tower.

Rocket braced his feet, one on the chair, and the other on the dash to move another lever forward. Like magic the whole shebang propelled with surprising mobility toward the nearest exit.

"I told you I had a plan." The bounty hunter said, as a Nova guard smacked on the windshield. He fell off with a squeak.

The now mobile tower dipped and dove, soaring through the hallway. The beastly sound of metal scrapping against metal filled the room.

"You're too low!" Philly shouted, struggling to stay on her feet as they were knocked around like a ball in a paddle game.

"No back seat driving!"

The tower harshly touch-downed and skidded to a stop at a somewhat safe distance, Rocket sealed the door at the end of the hall leading to the cafeteria, effectively locking most everyone out.

"That was a pretty good plan." Peter admitted when everything had stilled.

The bounty hunter shifted to conceder his accomplices with a smirk and a shrug, equal amount of hand and shoulder.

"It was," Philly wobbled to her feet, "but next time, I drive."


	8. Chapter 8: A Sorta Clean Get Away

**Alrighty then...so this chapter is sort of a filler. Yeah, I know...a filler. I just wanted to have the next chapter be the whole trip to Knowhere, but we'll se how that goes. This chapter also features a lot of Jax (you'll see what I mean) not really sure what to say about that except I hope you like it. **

**Thank you for everyone who added this story to their favorite/alert list. And to MaddySan5926, areskickass13, CatGirlFireflare, Guest, random gal, and Reish95 for reviewing. SIX reviews in one day! Let's just say my family kept asking me why I was punching the air...**

* * *

><p>Bracing his hands on the top of the windowsill, Peter swung his body to kick out the fractured glass that remained in one of the more damaged viewports. One by one the escapers alighted on the dura-steel floor, some more lightly then others.<p>

"Come on," Rocket called, standing at a double door with the armband in hand, "Impound's through here."

"How could you possibly know that?" Philly, skeptically, as the doors slid open.

He gave a nonchalant shrug, "Nova Core only knows how ta build one kind a prison. As big and bad as The Kyln seems…it's just a standard issue holding station when ya get down to it."

The impound room was full of gyro-shelves from wall to ceiling, contents organized in boxes alphabetically in Xanderian by last name. The six beings split up, eager to reclaim their stuff.

With slight frustration in the filing system Philly located the Rs, punched the button for the shelf to gyro. It took about twenty names but finely a sloppy labeled _RESH_ rolled by.

She pulled it out, eagerly ripping off the lid like it was a gift from Peter's silly tree holiday. Her red pants and faded yellow shirt were sort of neatly folded next to her boots and her zapper.

"Do you see the ship?" The pilot asked Peter, who'd run to the window.

"Yeah, there it is!" The Terran tapped on the glass, bouncing up and down excitedly, "Get my ship!"

"_My_ ship!" Philly snapped automatically, draping her clothes over her arm, zapper and boots in hand.

Peter compromised with an eye-roll, "Our ship, It's the _Milano_. The orange and blue one over in the corner."

"They crumpled my pant up in a ball. That's rude, they folded your's." Rocket complained as he jumped to the ship impound's computer system. A taps on the touch pad had large robotic arms transport the starship to the docking bay like a giant vending machine.

The bounty hunter had hopped down and started out another door without so much as a 'follow me'.

…

…

With a jubilant laugh and a spring in her step, Philly, with Drax and Groot, both clutching theirs or their friend's belongings, followed Rocket impatiently. The bounty hunter seemed to know where he was going and hadn't been wrong yet, so he was followed until they arrived at yet another dura-steel double door.

The air lock was opened by Rocket holding the security armband. The Zeldonian danced ahead on the balls of her feet through the _Milano's_ familiar cargo hold to the twisty steps that led to the rest of the ship. Humming and twirling as she went, not reducing speed in the slightest as the pilot made a beeline for her domain.

Vaguely aware of foot steps, both heavy and light, behind her, Philly navigated through the common room, past the bedrooms, bathroom and shower, and ascended the steep steps that went up to the cockpit.

A deep breath in through the nostrils, sighing out from the mouth as she surveyed the room without breaking stride.

It seemed just as she'd left it, two sets of flight chairs, colored in the ship's signature shades of orange and blue. Floors clean, but not obsessively scrubbed. Her hammock was hanging limply in a corner, looking so very inviting…

_But no time for that now, Philly-girl. _ There was an escape to finish.

Her gray eyes zeroed in on the pilot's chair…her chair. Lips curled into a giddy smile. Eyes lighting up like a child beholding a pound of their favorite treat. Her fingers fondly traced the chair's back as she sank down slowly, filled to the brim with a warm and cozy feeling at the way she fit in the soft, well-worn leather.

She sensed the others' presences and heard them climb through the hatch but didn't pay much attention. She was too far-gone.

With a few flicks of her wrist Philly did the necessary motions to switch on _Milano. _ The engines hummed to life, faintly vibrating the whole ship. There was a subtle quake that told of sealing the cargo hold and lift off. Her left hand rested on the steering stick, guiding the ship out of the impound. Her left drove the thruster control forward, border-lining un-safe with in an enclosed hanger.

"Ya'll might want to buckle up!" the pilot called over her shoulder, eyeing the creaking as they closed bay doors.

"Can you open that?" Gamora demanded someone, probably Rocket.

He yelled back, "Give me a sec!"

Philly threw her head back, laughing. She gunned it, pushing the engines to 72%...79%...86% capacity. The spot she was aiming for was where the doors, four slabs of thick dura-steel, formed a rapidly closing square shape in the dead center. Like a bull's-eye.

"You're not going to make it!" The green skinned alien told her, swiftly fasting the chair's restraints around her chest.

The pilot gave no sign she heard. A wide grin stretched across her face, her hands expertly, simultaneously pushed the thrusters to 93%, and manipulated the steering control.

The opening got smaller and smaller…

…the ship went faster and faster.

Last second _Milano_ dipped its port wing down 45 degrees, and soared through the opening with inches to spare.

The other beings not at the controls gave an almost collective sigh of relief.

Philly giggled, pulling the thrusters back down to a safer pace, "Not too shabby, eh Petey-Boy?" she twisted her torso around, ready to except the praise, scoff, admiration, or any admittance of her superiority her Terran friend could offer. Except he wasn't there.

"Um…where's Peter?"

"He is retrieving something. He also said to keep the ship close." Gamora added, unbuckling.

The Zeldonian groaned quietly, "Not again…"

"How's he gonna get to us?" Rocket demanded.

"He declined to share that information with me." Through a tense jaw.

"Well screw this then," The bounty hunter scoffed, "I ain't wait'n around for some humie with a death wish."

The ship gave a sudden jerk as Philly banked right, turning around and backtracking to the Kyln. "We're _not _leaving without him. Peter said 'keep the ship close' then the ship stays close."

"We cannot stay here." Drax tried to persuade her, albeit rather forcefully. And loudly.

"Well we are," The Zeldonian snapped, "so suck it up."

"Suck this, Blue," Rocket hoisted his blaster to his shoulder. For one horribly long instant there was so much tension, it couldn't be sliced by any thingy, no matter how sharp. The only sounds in the cockpit were the highly customized gun booting up and expanding. Engines rumbling.

"Either you turn this ship around, or I will." He said with a hit of a snarl.

"I am _Groot_."

Philly stiffened, taking a few unsteady breaths. She subtly pulled the thruster control back to buy some time, but didn't turn around.

"Rankweed sucking womp rat."

Rocket's upper lip scrunched up, other then that reflex the insult was ignored, "You got the orb right?" He asked Gamora over his shoulder, not looking away from where his blaster was pointing. His finger teased at the trigger.

"Yes." The green skinned woman nodded, digging in Peter's satchel. Her search became more and more frantic until she reluctantly admitted; "He must have taken it with him."

"HA!" Philly snorted a laugh, once again grinning till her face hurt.

Irritably, Rocket powered-down and lowered his blaster with a huff, "If we don't leave now, we _will_ be blown to bits."

"NO, we're not leaving without the orb."

"And Peter!" was a chirped reminder. Hands pushed the thrusters back up. The ship started a moderate orbit around The Kyln. "Oh, come on, we left that place in shambles. There's no way the guns can fire on what's left of their man-power."

"No need, all defense systems 're automated." Rocket, bluntly.

"Oh…well then if he's not here soon we're out of here."

"Behold!" Drax interrupted the beat of stillness, eyes fixed on the window. The rest followed his gaze. Peter was flying with his thruster boots and helmet in a wide, smooth arc straight for them.

"Son of a gun," Philly's smile got wider (if possible) as she angled the ship's air lock toward the approaching Terran. "How's about you'll go down and greet him."

There was reluctant, yet un-protested shuffling as the beings descended the steps. Whether it was to greet Peter or get away form her she couldn't tell.

Before leaving Gamora gave her a set of coordinates for, not a city or a planet, a system. An outer rim system.

That set of coordinates had to be in her top ten of vague, undefined, remote destinations she'd been given in her flying career.

And she flew with Peter Quill.

_Oh, well off to…somewhere._

…

…

…

* * *

><p><em><strong>Xander<strong>_

..

...

Panic.

Frustration.

Dread.

All of these and more negative emotions were fighting for dominance in young Nova cadet Jax Do'nal. Served him right though. The summons had specifically stated he be at Nova Core HQ no latter then 0800, it was now…

_What time was it?_

The platinum blond checked his watch, being carful not to unsholder his duffel bag or lose speed. 7:48.

Twelve minutes.

He had twelve minutes until his first day in the final step before he would become a full-fledged member of the Nova Core. Twelve minutes for a thirty-minute walk. That's what he got for forgetting his alarm clock.

A life long dream ever since Jax witnessed a corpsmen risk his life to save a woman. To his six-year-old eyes that shopping cart had been moving awfully fast. That day he'd declared to his lawyer father he wanted to be a hero. His father had patted the boy's head and ushered him along, dismissing the declaration as the fantasies of a child, something the boy would soon grow out of.

But as the years went on and that spark slowly but steadily grew into a flame, his to-do parents began to fret. Study the law, they'd said, insisted, take over his father's practice and be a hero in the courtroom.

Finely at seventeen and almost at the crossroads of his life, Jax had respectfully, yet firmly, said no.

Managing to bury her skepticism and natural fear of letting her first-born son leave their plush nest, his mother (after a few tears) had tried to be supportive. His father had been furious, practically disowned him. Somehow they'd come to a tentative agreement. If Jax could complete all required training with flying colors and still wanted to peruse this absurd notion (his father's words, not his) then by all means, leave already.

Almost a year later and required training a distant memory of colors flying, Jax had been given the sought-after opportunity to shadow a veteran Nova Core officer for six months. He accepted, packed his bag and found himself assigned to Corpsmen Tash, an officer aboard a prison transport shuttle.

…

…

Face flushed and out of breath, Jax stumbled through the door with seconds to spare. A not so subtly giggling secretary pointed him in the right direction. Off he raced to the 'two rights and a left, second door on the left, if you hit the locker rooms you went too far' conference room. Jax burst in the room, nearly tripping on the threshold as he made his un-fashionably late entrance.

There were a handful of other people inside. Some of them wore the same standard issue cadet uniform he had on. One was a real corpsmen, if his attire had anything to say.

"One minute and twenty-three seconds late." He 'tut-tuted', making a show of clicking a stopwatch off, "anything you want to say, cadet?"

The winded young man wanted to say a lot. If only he could catch his breath. Till then he bowed his head and panted, "Sorry, sir."

A corner of the corpsmen's mouth twitched up. His dark eyes twinkled in suppressed mirth, "I'll let this one slide, as long as you don't let it happen again."

Frantic, grateful nodding.

"Now then," he continued addressing the whole class, "welcome to Nova Corps headquarters and final phase of your training.

"Here you will have the opportunity to get a feel for the inner workings of the Corps, in all aspects of the organization. There will be chances to observe and work at, Criminal Possessing Units, fire houses, dispatch, court houses, etc."

Jax noted the irony.

"My name is Corpsmen Rhomann Dey, I'll be you supervisor until you're ready to take you final exams. Any questions?"

…

…

…

After the Q&A session Corpsmen Dey led the small group down the hall to the locker rooms. They were told to store the duffel bags in assigned lockers and report back.

They would stow their uniforms in the locker rooms, after arriving on time (a quick, teasing look at Jax) then go about whatever task they were issued.

The rest of the official tour was uneventful, highlighting the meeting places, garages, shooting range, workout room, hangers, and the like. Wide-eyed, absorbing every detail like a sponge Jax followed with the eagerness of a puppy. A sponge puppy. Or puppy sponge.

…

…

Three hours after arriving he was posted at the front door with one of the other cadets for the rest of the day.

The sullen, dark-haired lad, Rhollis grumbled, "all that studying and prep and now look at us. Over-hyped doormen."

Jax stayed observant, watching the crown bustle along at the bottom of the white steps, "We're just new is all. Tomorrow will be better."

"Today, tomorrow what's the difference? We'll still be shinnies till we pass final exams."

"Well then, we've got plenty of time to prove we've got what it takes."

"Are you for real?" Rhollis deadpanned, "Face it Jax, nothing is ever going to happen around here. This'll just be another boring assignment like our six month waste of time."

The blond kept mute, turning the words over in his head. This wasn't a waste of time, this was important training. No matter what anyone said he'd worked hard to get here and was grateful. But there was that miniscule sliver of him that hoped, for whatever stupid reason, that something…that anything would happen.

…

…

…

How does that saying go again?

…

…

Be careful what you wish for.


	9. Chapter 9: Apologies and Explanations

The tiny Zeldonian pushed the door open so hard it slammed against the wall. She stomped up to the cluttered desk in the corner. Her hands were fisted and steam practically puffed out her ears. Seated at the desk, staring at the lit up computer screen was the object of her frustration.

"What do you think you're doing?!"

The author jumped at the angry voice, "what do you mean?"

"I mean it's Thursday night and you don't have anything ready to post!" The blue haired women yelled, crossing her arms over her chest, "after that horrible chapter last week people were expecting something remotely good and what do you do? Procrastinate, that's what!"

The author snapped right back, "I do have an excuse you know! I've been sick all week! And on top of that, I've been spending so much time writing about you for the past eight weeks without stopping…"

Pause for emphasis.

"I've been feeling burned out okay? Drained! Uninspired! Bored."

At the last two words Philly gasped, "Uninspired? Bored? How could you feel like that while writing about me? I thought you liked me!"

"Oh stop being so dramatic, I do like you. And don't worry, I'm not quitting this story."

"You're not?" Philly asked, hands on her hips now.

"Absolutely not. I spent the week with a team starkid/Screen Junkies/CinemaSins/How It Should Have Ended marathon on youtube. Paired with Sirens/Leverage/any comedy thing I could find on Netflix and now I feel much better. Plus my cold is almost gone."

"Good, I'm glad. What's you're plan of action?"

"Well, I started on the next chapter today for The Girl Who Wanted To Fly and I should have the posted by next week."

"Uh huh, go on."

"I'm also thinking of redoing the last chapter because I was unsatisfied with that."

Philly snickered, "So were a lot of other people I bet."

Penpal678910 gave her OC a dry look until Philly felt like squirming.

"…I just meant you only got two review on the last chapter."

"That's true. I guess we should take this opportunity to thank these two reviewers. CatGirlFireflare and random gal I just want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. So thank you."

"What she said." Philly shrugged, "what'd they say any who?"

"Just how much they like Jax." The author counted in her head, bracing for an explosion.

…_3.…_

…_2…_

…_1…_

"WHAT!?"

She winced as her OC went off in a rant.

Trying to be head over the noise, "Well there you have it folks. If you stuck around this long you'll hopefully understand why there was no real chapter today. I'm super sorry but I really do feel a lot better."

"…_How could they like HIM better then ME…"_

"And I apologize for her, someone gave her sugar this morning. Never give a Zeldonian sugar. Ever. She'll crash in a bit. And I'll make sure Philly is right as rain for the next installment of the story...and that she doesn't try to do anything to Jax. Till then ta-ta and thank you for your patience!"


	10. Chapter 10: Clashing

**Another ****chapter done! This is a long one (by my standers) to make up for the A/N last week. Not a lot of Drax or Groot, but I'll try to make up for that next time.**

**Thank you all for reading my story, I love looking at my story stats. Also, a big thanks to everyone who added this to a alert/favorite list.** **For their understanding and awesome reviews; Becka3490, random gal, Guest, CatGirlFireflare, and Alaska Winters, thank you!**

**I don't own Guardians of the ****Galaxy, or the song Philly does. That's from Firefly.**

**Enjoy~**

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><p>If it had been any other instance Philly would have been fleeing form a vessel her and Peter had recently looted. It would have been a wild and adrenalin inducing game of dodge the lasers. This time there was no chase there was only the airlock making the ship quake as it sealed the second the "okay" came through the communication system. She steered the ship away form the Kyln as fast as the thrusters would allow. No lollygagging. No hot-dogging. No fun.<p>

_Good-by and good riddance._

She took a long breath in through her nose. Leather. Metal. Twist of that citrus cleaner. Let the air out in a sigh that was equal parts relief and content the soft noise was amplified in the empty room. Her room.

It was empowering to be piloting the _Milano_. Always made her feel like she was queen of the 'verse. Like she could do anything. Invincible. Safe. Joyful.

So joyful in fact, she thought she felt a song coming on.

"_Ohhhhhh, take my love. Take my land. Take me to where I cannot stand. I don't care, I'm still free! You can't take the sky from me…!"_

Her fingers started to plug in the remote coordinates Gamora had outlined as she belted out the old spacer shanty. So loud and off-key was her vocals the pilot didn't notice footsteps tromping up the steps. Didn't notice another being until another voice, just as off-key, joined hers.

"_Take me back to the black. Tell 'um I ain't coming back. Burn the land and boil the sea. You can't take the sky from meeeee!"_

The Terran hummed a greeting, glancing over her shoulder at the nav station. Plopping down in the co-pilot's chair, he kicked his feet up and draped his body side-ways over the armrests.

_Déjà vu. _

The last time he'd been sitting like that they'd been on their way to the Broker's and freedom from the Ravengers. Seemed like ages ago. That worked out flawlessly, hmmm?

"The Walkman?" Philly asked without turning her head.

"Yep." He replied, popping the'P'. Peter frowned slightly when the Zeldonian hit enter with less then half the necessary information. "These all the directions she gave you?"

With the 'P' popped. "Yep."

"Hmmm."

"Hmmm, indeed. It appears she doesn't trust us."

Peter gave a short laugh, grinning, "With good reason. What's the damage?"

Gray eyes did a quick survey of the cockpit, "Well…nothing up here seems to be missing. But I haven't checked the cargo hold yet." Hands brought up the heads-up display on the dash for both of them to see. "Doesn't look like they got around to scrounging for parts yet… Air and water supplies seem to still be topped off…"

She scowled, eyeing another stat. "Those _Kriffing vhlors!_ They siphoned our fuel!"

A string of Terran profanity. "How far can we get?"

Some mental math. "Within the system we want for sure. Past that…well…I'd feel better if I knew where we were going."

Peter chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, "Me too. Come on, let's go see what our guests are up to."

He rose and started for where he'd left the escapes. Some last second adjustments and Philly scampered down the steps on Peter's heels.

…

…

The _Milano_ was a compact vessel; she was made to carry a small amount of crew, cargo, and passengers and altered for speed and agility. Built to out run anything on her tail, the modified version of an old cargo ship was mass-produced and sold on the black market, completely off grid. Perfect for the Ravenger's needs, they made up most of Yondu's fleet.

It only took a few seconds to get form the cockpit to the common room. The kitchen/dinning room/living room/cross roads that everyone has to go though to get anywhere on the ship.

Peeking through the doorway Philly could see all four of the passengers had changed back into their real clothes and claimed an individual strategic spot. All had their backs to the wall and all were watching their forced companions warily. Some just seemed to hide their mistrust better then others.

Drax had snagged one of the few chairs that were built into the wall. He remained as still as a statue with his hands resting on his knees, inches away from the hilts of the two hefty swords sticking out of his boots. He was glairing diagonally across the room at Gamora.

The green skinned woman had her arms crossed over her chest, unmoving save for her eyes, flickering between the three males. The two were stiff and ridged. Tense.

Ready to snap.

On the other end of the spectrum, Groot was inspecting various nick-knacks and bobbles _Milano's_ crew had decorated the room with, while still managing to keep his back toward the wall.

Nearest the door, Rocket had dismantled something or other and was fiddling with the parts and humming a jazzy tune. Philly paused for a shake, but then decided he wasn't messing with anything important like the steering or the music player. Shrugging she went for the kitchen area to see if any food had survived the raid.

Her partner however…

"Whoa! Hey, Ranger Rick!" Peter yelled at the furred mammal. "You can't take apart my ship without asking me!" He stooped down, "What is this?"

"Don't touch that." Rocket ordered like he was talking to a small child, "It's a bomb."

"A bomb?" Peter squawked. Jaw dropping, eyebrows rose. With a couple protein bars in hand Philly rested her elbows on the counter watching the activity with interest.

"Yep." Rocket.

"And you just _leave it laying around_?"

A scoff, "I was gonna put it in a box."

"What's a box gonna do!?" The Terran's voice rose in pitch and volume as the bounty hunter rummaged in one of the nearby drawers. He selected a colorfully wrapped box collecting dust on top. Philly finished off the bar and started another.

_Uh-oh._

"How 'bout this one?"

"No, whoa," Peter kicked at drawer closed hard with the toe of his boot, "leave it alone."

"Why? What is-"

"_Shut up_." He said loudly, defensively.

"Hey!" A what's-your-problem gesture before going back to what ever he was doing.

After a few beats Peter nodded to the assortment of parts spread out on the floor, "What's that?"

Rocket looked up form his work. His lips were pulled back showing off his fangs in a brief grin. "That's for when things get _really _hard core. Or if you want to blow up moons."

Gamora snapped her eyes toward the two, "No one's blowing up moons."

Rocket exhaled through his nose, "you just want ta suck the joy out of everything."

Shaking his head Peter strode to the TelViz screen that was mounted by the table, "So listen, I'm gonna need your buyer's coordinates." He said to Gamora, placing the merchandise on the tabletop.

Green fingers scooped it up, "We're heading in the right direction." Gamora replied evenly, turning the orb over in her hands. "For now."

The Terran quirked his lips in a charming smile. Took a couple steps forward, "If were gonna work together you might wanna try trusting us a little more."

"And how much do you trust me?" she replied shrewdly.

"I'd trust you a lot more if you told me what this was." He returned, plucking the silver orb out of her hands to put it back on the table. "'Cause I'm guessing its some kind of weapon."

"I don't know what it is." Gamora admitted slowly.

Drax's paw shot out eagerly to grab the orb; "If it's a weapon we should use it against Ronan."

Gamora's hands fisted, "Put that down you _fool_ you'll destroy us all!"

Drax had started toward her, "Or just you, murderous!" Gamora, not to be intimidated, met him halfway.

"I let you live once, princess!"

"I am NOT A PRINCESS!"

"Hey! Nobody is killing anybody on my ship!" Peter vociferated firmly, "We're stuck together until we get the money."

There was half a beat where there was no sound except Philly chewing her snack. She couldn't decide wither or not this confrontation might have ended with blades or fists.

Drax tossed the orb to Peter with a slight scoff, "I have no interest in money."

The Terran stepped forward, out of the destroyer's way, "Great. That leaves more money for the four of us."

Groot coughed for attention. Palms up-ward and elbows bent. _What about me?_ The gesture said.

"The five of us." Peter corrected himself with a sigh, "Partners?"

"We have an agreement. But I would never be partners with the likes of you. I'll tell the buyer we're on our way," Gamora said, pausing just outside the door frame, "and Quill, you're ship is filthy." The Green skinned woman ascended the steps for the cockpit.

Peter shamelessly ogling her leather-clad…hips as she went.

Philly puckered her mouth at the thought of a stranger left unattended in _her_ domain. She had half a mind to go up there right now and throw the other woman out…right after she changed into something other then the piston clothes…

"Oh, she has no idea." Peter said somewhat proudly, "If I had a black light this place would look like a Jackson Pollock painting."

Philly gave a snorted laugh, "And that is precisely why I confine myself to the cockpit. A no-overnight-guest, intercourse free zone." She skipped past Peter, jabbing him in the stomach and getting her pigtail buns flicked as she pasted.

Peter folded his arms as she disappeared to her room. Waiting until he was absolutely certain the pilot was well out of hearing range before leaning toward Groot and Rocket. The only two left in the room,

"That's what she thinks."

"You got issues, Quill." Rocket noted, nose scrunching up in disgust.

The cheeky way Peter bobbed his head and smirked in the distance at someone who wasn't there was halted by a scream coming from around the corner.

Peter jumped up and jogged toward the sound. There was only one person he knew that could make a scream sound so horrified, so rageful at the same time. His blasters were drawn and ready as Peter halted lazily outside the Zeldonian's room.

His partner had a habit of blowing the little things completely out of proportion. Screaming when there was nothing worth screaming over. But then again there was that one time when the cargo they'd been transporting had been infested with space lice and he thought it would be fine and she'd been over exaggerating.

She hadn't been over exaggerating and the ship had to be fumigated. Dry-docked for three months. They'd learned that sometimes it were worth checking out and to make sure.

But this time, when he opened the door and found Philly standing in the center of the room looking quite unharmed, Peter was sure this was another case of over exaggeration. The Zeldonian's eyes were wide and darting, her sides were heaving as she hyperventilated. At a glance Peter saw what was wrong.

He face-palmed.

All the souvenirs, nick-knacks, trade goods, and whatever else Philly had acquired over the years through various (legal and illegal) means were gone.

"Now Philly," He started, holstering his blasters, "to be fair most of that stuff was dangerous."

The pilot didn't seem to hear him as she began mumble woefully, "I won those Crost dual swords in a bet. And…and those hand woven baskets form Mallis, I bought them fair and square…"

_But the material they're made of isn't allowed in Xanderian space,_ Peter thought, letting his head fall against the doorframe, "All of it was contraband of one kind or another…"

"The headbands Nan made me, I love those headbands! My cute little figurines from the Kree…"

"Philly." No response. Why did she have to do this now?

He tried again, louder.

Just more babbling.

Finely the Terran snorted. Closed the door. Put on his headphones and pressed play on his Walkman.

Why did girls have to be so obsessed with useless junk, anyway?

He bobbed his head to the music all the way down the hall. A thought made him pause mid-step outside his own room. Punched the open button. Peeked inside…

"Aww, damn it!"

…

…

…

Shell shocked.

Robbed.

Violated.

That was the one. She felt violated. All her hard work. All those years of goods transport. Everything she had to show for her life had been stored in this room. This room had been ransacked. Pilfered by Nova Core just like the fuel tank. And they had the nerve to call _them_ criminals.

Hypocrites.

What was she doing in here again?

Oh, right there was still the little matter of her piston yellows. Philly yanked open her microscopic closet, relived to find her wardrobe intact (as far as she could tell). After a moment she picked out an off white, paint stained long-sleeve, and a comfy pair of very dark blue over-alls. Everything she owned was well worn in and super comfy, just how she liked it.

The Zeldonian spent a few more minutes morning over her hijacked collection. Then, with a reluctant sigh, she trudged out toward the cockpit. Her feet barely lifted off the ground. Head tilted down. Mouth pressed in a thin line.

This was her sad face.

At the doorway to the common room Philly poked her nose in cautiously. Gamora was absent, probably in the cockpit. Peter was probably with her. Drax was still missing after he'd stormed off. Groot had migrated to the opposite wall, still observing the cheep do-dads hanging everywhere. Why couldn't Nova Core have taken any of that? Now that stuff was junk.

Rocket was still sitting on the floor, his tail flicked back and forth, suspended an inch or so off the ground. Spare parts were still scattered on the dura-steel in front of him. That humming had been resumed as his hands kept up a steady pace, moving with certainty in what they were doing.

Philly hadn't made a sound as far as she could tell, but even so the bounty hunter's left ear flicked toward her direction while his focus stayed on his work. The Zeldonian strode into the common room, the furred ear following as she padded over in her stocking clad feet and plopped down to watch.

_What a weirdo._ Rocket thought, glancing up briefly, then resumed his tinkering with an internal snort.

The parts he was using were make-do at best, 'cause _apparently_ these two had had forgotten to upgrade this scrap heap in over three cycles. He shuddered to think on the condition the engines were in.

His fur prickled. Her head and eyes, with no other motion or any sound, tracked every move his hands made intently. It was hard trying to resist the urge to squirm under the gray-eyed scrutiny.

There was his humming. The clank of metallic objects. Groot's heavy footsteps.

Out of all that, Philly's muteness was somehow the most prominent.

He tried to ignore her, but the more Rocket worked the more he could picture being under a microscope. And that stirred up unwanted thoughts.

He let out a long breath through his nose, "Ya gonna gawk at me all day, Blue?"

Philly didn't answer the question, but instead asked one of her own, "Can that really blow up a moon?"

This made Rocket pause for a beat, a hit of a smirk with a flash of fangs, "It should with a little more work."

"Is it another bomb?"

"A gun." He corrected, "What's a womp rat?"

"Peter's word for grets. Were you really gonna shoot me?" Philly asked, eyeing Rocket's blaster lying within his arm reach.

The bounty hunter hummed a few more verses instead of answering right away. Waited until her knee started bouncing with impatience, "Probably. But I didn't."

"Well that's comforting." Hands on her hips.

Rocket hummed some more as he continued his tinkering. He could almost _hear_ the Zeldonian frowning.

Victory.

…

…

…

The clop, clop of someone coming down the ladder made Philly look up as Peter sulked over to sit at the table. His head was tilted back. Arms crossed, and bottom lip sticking out like a shelf. This was Peter's sad face. And why he was 'sad' was written all over said face.

Philly's mouth stretched into a wide toothy grin, "Did she shoot you down? Ouch, that must hurt!"

He gave her a sullen look.

"Aww," she cooed, reaching out to fluff his hair, "you poor baby!"

Peter watched her with a dry half-lidded expression as the Zeldonian nearly collapsed with laughter at his wounded ego.

The Terran pouted at her.

"She's driving."

…

…

…

Sitting in the co-pilot chair, Gamora watched the ship's controls move seemingly on their own accord as the automated pilot system adjusted to maintain the route.

There was a lovely absents of vocalization without Quill up present and the assassin thought she might even close her eyes for a moment. Last night had not been a restful one spent in the Kyln. Nor any particular sleep cycle before that she could remember.

It was starting to sink in how fast her freedom was approaching the more the ship traveled through the wide expanse of space toward the outlaw planet. Soon they would sell the orb. Soon she would get her cut and travel far out of the reach of Ronan and even Thanos. Soon she would never have to answer to anyone ever again. She would be completely free...

...Completely alone.

The corners of her lips dropped in a frown.

There was a part of her that wished Nebula could have come, that they could have sought freedom together. But what Gamora knew, what she reluctantly couldn't ignore any longer, was that the woman whom she called her sister was too far-gone.

All the years of training and modification had left nothing more then an empty shell. A ruthless creature that felt no remorse, who thrived on killing and watching other beings suffer.

"_WHAT?!"_ Gamora's brow furrowed when the puny Zeldonian shrieked for the second time since she'd been up here. What was wrong with her this time?

Almost franticly footsteps raced up the ladder and a livid pilot all but tumbled through the hatch that led to the rest of the ship. Philly scrambled to her feet, swerving her head wildly.

"Oh…" She rubbed her head sheepishly when at seeing Gamora resting passively in the co-pilot chair. "I thought…"

The pilot's voice trailed off. Gamora's body stiffened when instead of leaving, Philly settled into the seat next her's.

The two of them sat in silence avoiding eye contact. The thrusters hummed and pushed the ship to wherever. Monitors and sensors beep and booped. Data scrolled across a screen. Stars floated past the viewport.

_Just leave already._ The assassin thought.

"Do you like to fly?"

Gamora turned her dark irises in Philly's direction. Snapped her gaze forward, "not particularly."

The green skinned woman twisted her torso to face away form Philly and toward the side viewport. The blue haired woman huffed at the snub her attempt at conversation had suffered and leaned back to watch the wide, starry 'verse roll by in the absents of organic noise.

…

…

…

…_Well this isn't awkward at all…._


End file.
